


Surrounded by Wolves

by novacorpsrecruit



Category: Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Spider-Man (Comicverse)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, but like 90s canon typical, hi hello i still love writing angst, villain AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-29 19:59:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16750621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novacorpsrecruit/pseuds/novacorpsrecruit
Summary: Johnny knew the Spider-Man since he first moved to Manhattan. Well, he knew of him. He knew of the countless people who claimed to be mugged by the Spider-Man. Destruction and death has always been linked to his name, from Captain George Stacy to the District Attorney. And now, the death's have turned into murders -- with red spider tracers as a breadcrumbs. But when the so-called dangerous super villain saved Johnny from being mugged in Bryant Park as a teen, Johnny wonders if the Spider-Man is as bad as everyone suggest he is.





	Surrounded by Wolves

**Author's Note:**

> I want to thank Irene and Lynn for partnering up with me for the big bang!! Thanks for making my first experience in a bb awesome :) 
> 
> Check out their artwork [here ](https://bimerms.tumblr.com/post/180522515527/my-art-for-the-spideytorch-big-bang-2018-i) and [ here](http://vieryplus.tumblr.com/post/180523225336/my-art-for-surrounded-by-wolves-by)!

_‘Don't fool yourself. Your eyes don't lie, you're much too good to be true._  
_Don’t fire fight, I feel you burning;_  
_everything’s burning._  
_Don’t fly so high, your wings might melt, you’re much too good to be true._  
_I’m just bad for you.'_

* * *

 

Johnny knew the Spider-Man since he first moved to Manhattan.

Well, he knew of him.

He was the reason that Reed took the incident and turned it around in a swift PR move. He was the example of what could happen if they weren’t careful – if they just went out to fight crime with the label “superhero” over their heads.

Instead, they were the Fantastic Four.

They were space explorers turned celebrities. Johnny was barely 16. There was so much he could do – and so much he was barred from doing. It took so much self-control to listen to Reed’s rules while his teenaged soul begged for freedom. Their lives were in a spotlight, Reed warned. Anything they do wrong will be publicized. They will no longer have a normal life. Johnny argued that their life was never normal to start with. But to where they are now – here in the Baxter Building high above New York City, their names plastered in newsprint, scientific journals and magazine spreads – was far from anything normal.

There was never any good articles out about the Spider-Man.

Destruction and death has always been linked to his name.

Spider-Man always claimed to journalists that he was the good guy – that he was a  _superhero_  trying to save New York City. The journalists would always follow up by the damage cost of the vigilante or the number of people hurt.

The amount of people who considered him a menace quickly rose at the death of Police Captain George Stacy – one of the few Spider-Man supporters.

His supporters dwindled after the death of Gwen Stacy. An emergency protection order was quickly granted to the rest of the Stacy family as many believed the family was a target of Spider-Man’s attacks.

Johnny couldn’t help but wonder if it was an accident.

The way that Spider-Man was photographed cradling Gwen’s body, the way that he was reported following his so-called “partner-in-crime”, the Green Goblin, away from the scene. It just felt … off to Johnny.

Either way, Reed said that taking on the title “superheroes” without caution could end terribly.

So here they were.

Unmasked and powered. For all of New York City to see.

Interviews after interviews. Photoshoots after photoshoots. TV spot after TV spot.

And at every spot, they would ask the same question: “Are you a superhero team?”

“We’re space explorers,” Reed explained. “Always were and always will be. But we were granted powers and we will not hesitate to help New York when needed.”

They had to be model citizens, model celebrities, model superheroes. They had to be cautious as cameras were everywhere, ready to soil their names. A task that wouldn’t be hard for Reed and Sue, a challenge for Ben but, ultimately, difficult for Johnny. At least, in his opinion. He was a teen. He couldn’t behave  _all_  the time.

The night Johnny finally snuck out, he hoped Sue wouldn’t catch him. He didn’t want to disappoint her. Not now. Not while there was so much on the line.

All he needed was one night of freedom. One night of doing what he wanted. God. He didn’t even have to do much. Just a hotdog would work for him.

He left the building in an ill-fitting hoodie, too big for his small-frame. A hand-me-down from Ben in guise of a so-called ‘gift’. Ben didn’t need it anymore. It didn’t fit. But it was perfect for Johnny, who needed to hide his identity as best as he could. He needed fresh air, and Bryant Park wasn’t even two blocks away.

The walk was brisk and the air felt good on his skin. Johnny carelessly played with a cheap lighter between his fingers, controlling the flame with the slight movement of his thumb. Sue suggested it as a focal-point training, to help keep his mind active and his powers in control, but some part of Johnny felt like it was a way to release anxiety than anything. A fidget toy that wouldn’t melt in his hands.

Johnny knew he couldn’t stay out long. Someone would discover he’s missing soon – if they haven’t already. He found a hotdog cart, close to closing up shop. A little relish and mustard later, Johnny sat on a secluded bench, trying to enjoy the cool breeze, unable to feel much of the cold air. It’s been a year and Johnny knows things are supposed to feel cold … but he’s not sure if he  _could_  register it anymore. The iced drinks felt room temperature, the snowflakes felt similar to the raindrops. Ice baths after long fights soon turn boiling hot. He could feel heat. He could feel variations of heat – room temperature, boiling, too hot for anybody but him. Sometimes, he missed feeling the cold, but the heat was strangely comforting.

At least, now it is.

At first, Johnny was always too hot. He couldn’t control his body temperature, and after he would use his powers, he always felt like he was still on fire. He couldn’t cool his body as well as he could now. Soon, Johnny found comfort in the heat.

Johnny crumpled the foil into a tight ball, tossing it aside to the trash can nearby. When it bounced out and onto the ground, he sighed and stood up. Picking up his trash and throwing it away, he knew he couldn’t stay much longer. He had to get back to the Baxter Building. Surely, someone has discovered he was missing.

He shoved his hands back into his hoodie pocket and started the short walk back to the Baxter Building.

A strong hand grabbed Johnny’s shoulder, pulling him into an alleyway.

The masked man slammed him against the wall. Johnny’s first instinct was to flame on – but it was quickly diminished by the voice of his sister in the back of his mind, reminding him to think before he acts. With his back against the wall, he quickly assessed his surroundings. He was outnumbered, four to one. The men, dark in clothing, concealed their identities with hoods or with a cloth face mask.

“What are you doing out so late, pretty boy?” The man holding him teased. “Doesn’t your momma want you home before dark?”

“Look at his clothes,” Another spoke up. “He’s clearly homeless.”

“His wallet said otherwise,” The first man said. “It looked pretty thick when you handed that five to the hotdog man. If you hand it over, you’ll only have to explain a bruise or two.”

“And if I don’t?” Johnny asked.

“Do we really need to explain that?” The third man laughed.

“You’re outnumbered, buddy,” The first man smirked. “We’re getting your wallet either way. You just need to –“

A quick yelp from behind the man pulled his attention away from Johnny. The man’s scornful look quickly diminished into confusion at the sudden lack-of-lackey behind him. The fourth man looked wide-eyed at the first, unsure where their friend went to.

Johnny knew.

He saw the web.

He saw the man quickly reeled upward.

He saw his window of opportunity.

He grabbed the man’s wrists, his grip still tight on Johnny’s shoulders, quickly bringing his body temperature up. As the man snapped his attention back to Johnny and his sudden touch – his wrists burned. 

“Fuck!” The man let go of Johnny’s shoulders, but Johnny kept his wrists in his flaming palms.

Johnny could see the two remaining lackeys out of the corner of his eye reach for their guns tucked into their waistband. He needed to act quickly.

A shadowy figure dropped from above. Johnny could feel his heartbeat rise. He saw him web one of the men’s arm, stopping him from fully reaching the gun.

Johnny gave a quick pulse of flames to the man, before pushing him away. He shot a warning fireball to the last standing lackey – he was unsure when the other disappeared.

“Are you still wanting to play?” Johnny asked.

“I do,” The first man – the burnt man – growled. Johnny turned his attention to him and the gun he had aimed at him. “Was all of this worth it? Is  _your life_  worth it?”

Before Johnny could even fathom a plan, the gun was snatched from the man’s hands, pulled by a web to the fire escapes above.

And soon, the man followed the gun with a loud yelp.

Johnny looked back to the other man – suddenly gone. Johnny knew he was different. He saw his opportunity and ran.

“I’ll find him,” a low voice reassured.

Shivers went down Johnny’s back. He turned to face the Spider-Man, hanging upside down in the dark alley. Johnny lit up his palms, creating the smallest embers for a light source. As if it would help. He was dawned in all black, blending in with shadows. His large expressionless, white eyes stared back at Johnny. The spider on his chest was almost as daunting as seeing a real spider.

“Oh,” He said, almost annoyed. He let go of his web, dropping to the ground. “You could’ve handled this on your own.”

“I  _could’ve_  handled it on my own,” Johnny repeated for clarification, more for himself than Spider-Man. “I was just … assessing the situation before you showed up.”

“Right,” The Spider-Man said sarcastically. “That’s why you lit yourself on fire as soon as they grabbed you. And here I thought I was finally doing something good; saving some poor homeless kid from being mugged after eating a half-priced hotdog.”

“I paid full price,” Johnny mumbled. “I’m not homeless –“

“I know you’re not now.” If Johnny could see Spider-Man’s eyes, he could swear he rolled them. “It’s just that your sweatshirt doesn’t scream ‘I’m on every gossip magazine on the newsstands.’”

“It was a gift –“

“A shitty gift.”

“Still a gift from a friend,” Johnny said, crossing his arms. “Which I’m assuming you have lots of? The media seems to love you.”

“Right,” Spider-Man gritted. He reached down, picking up the gun that the last standing lackey left behind. He inspected it before sliding off his backpack and slipping the gun in the first pocket. “Speaking of friends, I gotta find one of mine. I have a … gift for him now.”

“A gift,” Johnny repeated, eyeing the backpack as Spider-Man put it back on. “Does it happen to hurt people?”

“A gift happens to get shit done,” Spider-Man said. He gave a slight glance upward, Johnny followed his look, spying a giant silky cocoon that potentially had a man tight inside. “In the right hands, I mean. And in hands that have money.”

Spider-Man gave a firm pat on Johnny’s shoulders before walking away.

“Stay outta trouble, Sunshine,” Spider-Man said. “Hate to see a pretty face like yours end up bruised.”

Johnny bit his cheek, keeping him from saying anything that would pull the Spider-Man back to him and put himself back in danger.

He knew he should stop him. That he was going to find someone who wanted a gun – someone who  _shouldn’t_  have a gun – and put them on the street with  _that_  gun. Spider-Man was nothing but trouble – the Daily Bugle was right. He’s a menace.

But he helped save Johnny.

And Johnny’s got a soft spot and a sudden interest for the man behind the mask.

* * *

 

Peter wasn’t always a bad kid.

He never meant to be.

He didn’t like rules or being told what to do. He always found himself pushing back. Stepping slightly out of line when told to wait. Touching the wall as his class walked down the hall. Taking an extra candy when he was only offered one. It was more of a curiosity than anything. A what if.

So, what if he misbehaves? What if he does what he’s not supposed to do? There’s a cause and effect, the variables. It was a science that sparked his curiosity.

Peter knew when to behave, he just … enjoyed testing his boundaries.

Peter remembers fighting as long as he could talk. Sometimes verbal, sometimes physical. But it wasn’t until high school that he could actually throw a good punch back.

His aunt always said his worst quality was his temper, and that he got it from his Uncle Ben. That he needed to think before he spoke. “I’ll try that next time,” Peter would always say as he pressed the bag of frozen vegetables to his bruised face. But they both knew better.

Peter would be back on the street the next day, ready to throw punches with anyone that dared challenged him.

The Parkers didn’t live in a tough neighborhood. They lived in Forest Hills. And yet, Peter always came home in bruises. His school wasn’t a tough school. He went to a science magnet school. He wasn’t bullied. But somehow, he always found himself in fights. Sometimes, it was because he found himself in an argument, not willing to let the other win. Sometimes, it was just because he was a dumbass. A few times, he found himself fighting someone else’s battle, protecting a scrawny freshman from an upperclassman.

In the middle of his sophomore year, a radioactive spider granted him powers. Suddenly, Peter found himself winning more and more fights. Actually, since the spider bite, Peter never lost a fight against another high schooler. He almost found it too easy.

He never thought about fighting professionally until he saw the poster hanging outside a bodega on his way home. “WANTED: FIGHTERS WANTING TO WIN BIG $$$$”

From there, Peter found himself fighting more and more.

The thought of a costume never crossed his mind. Until he arrived the first night and was turned down for being too young. He realized that nobody was going to take him seriously and that his aunt and uncle wouldn’t approve of this at all. The next time he arrived, he told them that he was only going by his stage name: “The Spider.” 

He only wanted a little extra money. He wanted newer technology, extra spending money.

But it wasn’t until Uncle Ben died that he realized he needed to pull his weight. He never told Aunt May where the money came from. That he just … found a job that paid well and everything was going to be okay.

On the nights when he lost, Peter left the ring with his head hung and his ear buds in as his anger built. He needed money to help pay for groceries – to help Aunt May live comfortably and without worry. And without winning –  _without that money_  – Peter had to find other resources.

The first time he mugged someone, he felt bad. Sick to his stomach, but with enough money to get them by until the next fight. The second time, he focused more on pickpocketing. It was easier, painless for the victim, and quick for his guilt to pass. But some nights, it brought a slight thrill to mug someone. The more he did it, the easier it was. Made it easier to get what he wants and to calm himself down again.

He felt a lot better on the nights when he stopped muggers – hell, for a while, he wondered if he should try to be a vigilante. That worked for a few days, before suddenly, it seemed easier to mug the muggers and get away with his new web technology.

When the Daily Bugle put out a call to action against the so called “Spider-Man”, Peter found himself with a new job: Freelance photographer with photos of the Spider-Man. Aunt May felt relieved when she found his name in the paper, a name to attach to his sudden income.

Spider-Man, no matter how many times he told himself he was going to try to be a hero, seemed to find himself doing more bad than good. He told himself that great power comes great responsibility, and his responsibility was to his aunt. She didn’t need to worry about bills – she shouldn’t. She didn’t deserve all this worry and anxiety, and with Uncle Ben’s death, Peter knew he needed to take care of his aunt.

The straw that broke his back was Gwen’s death and the media that covered it.

She was Peter’s first love, his everything. For a while, Peter even tried to live honestly. He kept his fights minimal, wouldn’t agree to any rigged fights. Most of his income was from the Daily Bugle. It was the most good the Spider-Man ever did.

But the need to be good vanished when she laid lifelessly in his arms. When someone photographed Spider-Man at his most vulnerable and twisted his image. When Peter took the articles to heart, knowing that if he wasn’t involved in her life, if he never loved her, she would still be alive. Without her love – with Peter framed as the villain in her story – it was hard for him to get back on the right track.

“Peter? Will you take out the trash before you leave?”

Well, there was always Aunt May to keep him grounded.

“Yes, ma’am,” Peter said, shoveling bite after bite of wheatcakes into his mouth. A weekend tradition since he was young. The wheatcakes, flooded in maple syrup, used to be accompanied by Saturday morning cartoons. They were now replaced muffled news anchors talking in the other room, reminding Peter of the terrible of the world. Aunt May would continue to get ready for work, somehow ignoring all of the bad news, only to ask Peter if he heard about the small local boy who recovered from his terrible disease. She was always able to see the good in the world – see the good in  _him_.

“I’m sorry that we have to cut brunch short today,” Aunt May said, rushing from one room to another. “Eleanor came down with the flu last night and still has the bug. I told her I could cover her shift at F.E.A.S.T. today.”

“That’s okay,” Peter said, shoving another bite into his mouth. “I always knew that the woman who raised me and claimed to love me was lying.”

Aunt May came back into the kitchen, originally for the keys on the table, thwacked her palm against the back of Peter’s head. “Don’t speak with your mouth full.”

Peter swallowed his food before giving his aunt a loving grin. “Thanks, Aunt May. I love you, too.”

“Are you working today?” She asked, reaching for her keys on the table. “Bugle? Diner? Coffee Bean?”

“Bugle,” Peter nodded. “Saturdays usually have great photo opportunities so I’m out all day.”

“Stay out of trouble,” Aunt May warned, as if she could still ground Peter. She gave his shoulder a squeeze. “I swear, you come home with more bruises working at the newspaper than any other job you’ve had.”

“Well, yeah. We’re gonna end up with bruises if we’re only covering the hard hitting news.”

Aunt May gave Peter another loving thwart to the back of his head before ruffling his hair. “I wish you still had the assistant job. Set hours, good pay, used your degree …”

“Yeah,” Peter said, almost less-than-interested. “It was … good.”

“You’ll find another,” Aunt May pressed a quick kiss against Peter’s cheek. “One with better pay and a better boss. Get yourself a paper while you’re at the Bugle. Look through the Classifieds. Let me know when you get home.”

“Will do,” Peter said, knowing that he wouldn’t do either of those. Well, he’ll text his aunt later, hours before he goes home. He doesn’t need to stress her out any more than she already is. 

Once Aunt May left, Peter gave himself some time. He ate slower, playing on his phone and pretending to care about the photos on Instagram as he waited.

He gave himself the usual ten minutes before cleaning his plate, grabbed his bag, and dashed out of the house.

He had several things on his to-do list, and the first was grabbing photos for the Daily Bugle.

His freelance photography job was only worth it if he photographed compelling stories: the firemen as they rescued New Yorkers from a burning building, police officers protecting their citizens from harm’s way, families covered in dust – the only remains of their apartment complex. J. Jonah Jameson wanted to show New York City what it truly means to have these vigilantes “protecting” the city while they’re out there destroying it.

Jameson never had to know that some of these photo opportunities may have been started by the Spider-Man, needing a little extra cash for the week.

Taking photos of the aftermath of these supers-incidents was a lot easier than getting photos of the Spider-Man in his dark suit. He was rumored to only be active at night. The Spider-Man was fast. But photographer Peter Parker had a certain … luck at getting photographs of the Spider-Man and other super-powered heroes and villains alike.

As much as he enjoyed the heftier cash flow of the Daily Bugle compared to his other jobs, he hated the headlines and the stories that were attached to his own photographs.

He knew he was trouble.

Hell, sometimes, he was trouble without the mask. The older he got, the more fearless he was. Sometimes, it was charming a young sweetheart into giving him cab money. Other times, it was going back to the ring, maskless and with a craving for a punch.

But he wasn’t as much trouble as the Daily Bugle was leading. Sure, he’s sent several people to the hospital. Maybe, he’s came close to murdering a few people. But they deserved it.

But none of that compares to what the Bugle was framing him for.

And with 300,000 daily subscribers, and who knows how many street readers, there was little hope to restore any good to Spider-Man’s name.

What’s a couple of serial murders tied to your name mean if you were already framed for two deaths?

So, he stopped caring.

Dawned in his black suit, Peter went looking for trouble.

Peter was killing time, waiting for his budget meeting at the Daily Bugle. On slow days, he hung out on rooftops and watched below. His aunt used to say that he was a people-watcher. That he must have loved thinking about where someone was going or how their day was. She thought he was very caring to be concerned of a stranger walking in the streets.

But Peter could only wish he was as good as his aunt thought he was.

He wondered about a stranger’s background, that part is true. But he had also wondered what was in their pockets, or what they were doing in this part of the city. From a young age, Aunt May told him not to judge a book by its cover, but Peter couldn’t help it. It made his choices a lot easier in the long run.

It was a habit that he couldn’t let die – along with his  _other_  bad habits.

Something twinged in his stomach as he watched the blonde man from above. He couldn’t quite pinpoint the emotion. Something similar to greed, he figured. The way the man dressed – the acid-wash jeans with too perfectly ripped holes, the potentially ugliest floral print button up and the leather jacket – felt  _rich_. It wouldn’t take much to rile him up. Peter could make a lot of money right now.

He rolled his mask down, and quickly swung down, pulling the man from the edge of the sidewalk into the dark alleyway in a blink of an eye.

He slammed the man against the wall, pulling a stifled gasp as his head hit against the bricks of the building.

“We’ll make this quick,” Spider-Man said, his voice low. “I’m assuming, you know the drill. So hand ‘em over.”

“I … I know you,” Johnny said, pinned against the brick wall. He tried to search for the person behind the mask, searching for the one part of the mesh on the mask that didn’t just conceal as well as it should. There has to be some compassion left in this man.

“Yeah?” Spider-Man said. He gave Johnny a quick jolt against the wall.  “You and all of the city. I’d be on a first name basis with all of the crime beat reporters if it wasn’t for –  _you know_  – the identity thing. Quit stalling. I know you have something of mine.”

“Something of  _yours_?”

“It’s going to me be mine when you hand it over,” he assured. “Wallet, watch, jewelry, et cetera –“ One of his thumbs gently ran over Johnny’s leather jacket in his grip. “Your jacket, too.”

“Fuck off,” Johnny snapped. “It’s designer.”

“It’s mine,” Spider-Man said. “Now take it off before I force it off of you.”

“Not without a fight,” Johnny said. “Didn’t you used to be good?”

“When?” Spider-Man laughed. “I’ve been doing  _bad_  for too long –“

“Then stop.”

“I gotta make a living somehow,” Spider-Man said. “And if you don’t hurry up and give me my stuff, you’re going to find yourself in more trouble than you’re already in.”

 “You saved me,” Johnny said flatly.

“What?”

“After the – when I first moved here, you saved me. You’ve been good before.”

“I don’t ‘save’ people.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Johnny rolled his eyes.

“Apparently, I did,” Spider-Man said, grabbing Johnny’s jacket. He quickly pulled him away from the wall only to slam him face first back into it. With one hand flat against his back, the other quickly frisked Johnny, trying to find anything that may be hidden in his jean pockets. He pulled out his wallet, tossing it aside for now before he ripped the leather jacket off of his body. “How’s that for being good?”

Johnny bit his cheek, attempting to keep cool.

“Touch me again. I fucking dare you,” Johnny gritted through his teeth.

“Did you like that?” Spider-Man teased, letting go of the jacket and shoving Johnny against the wall again.

Peter didn’t know what happened first: the sudden warmth of his hand or the buzzing of his nerves. But he knew it was time to move. He leaped backward, catching a glimpse of the sudden flames.

“Shit,” He mumbled, quickly webbing the jacket and the wallet, reeling them towards him, before taking off toward the roof.

“Oh no you’re not!” Johnny called after, quickly taking off after the nuisance. “You’re not gonna run –“

Several web balls quickly flew by Johnny, pulling him to a stop. “You call this running? It’s more like finding higher ground.”

“So we’re gonna do this here, huh?” Johnny said, opening his hands in front of him and shot fire toward the Spider-Man. “It’s gonna be real embarrassing when I burn your clothes off –“

“Is that a promise or a threat?” Spider-Man effortlessly swung out of the way of Johnny’s flames. Johnny quickly tried to follow him, missing him as he laughed. “You have to hit me first.”

“Maybe I’m just trying to exhaust you first,” Johnny said, switching one hand to throw fireballs at Spider-Man. Spider-Man quickly let go of his web, acrobatically dodging the fireballs before casting another web and shot more web balls toward Johnny. Johnny stopped aiming at Spider-Man, quickly igniting the fireballs, burning them to dust.

“Y’know what you’re problem is?” Spider-Man asked. “You should wear a symbol to prevent people from robbing you. Something to say, ‘Hey, I’m a member of the Fantastic Four, don’t try to rob me.’ Like a giant four on your chest or a bright blue spandex.”

“Ha ha. Very funny,” Johnny rolled his eyes. “Maybe you should just quit crime?”

“I’ll think about that,” Spider-Man said, swinging closer to the Human Torch. He shot smaller web balls at Johnny – no. Web  _pellets_.

The small web pellet hit Johnny in his chest, quickly expanding, wrapping him up tightly in a web cocoon and extinguishing his flames.

“Hey- !“

Spider-Man shot a web toward Johnny, catching him before he fell to the bottom of the alleyway and tossed him to the rooftop for a safer landing. He knelt down to the tied up Johnny Storm. He gave a firm push on his shoulder, testing the strength of the webs constricting the Human Torch, and pushed him over to his back.

Johnny huffed, lighting his hair on fire in frustration.

“That’s cute,” Spider-Man laughed. “Thanks for playing with me.”

Johnny could only watch as Spider-Man stood up and started to walk away, picking up the jacket from the rooftop’s floor. God. He got rooftop dust on  _his_  jacket.

“We’re not through!” Johnny called after him.

Spider-Man laughed, walking back over and tossing the wallet back at Johnny. “I’m sure we’re not. Catch you later, Hot Stuff.”

He quickly jumped off the ledge, swinging away.

Johnny groaned, wrangling himself to sit up and worked at the webs. Twenty minutes later, Johnny was able to break free of the weakened restraints. He sighed, opening up his wallet to see what was missing.

Nothing.

Maybe a few dollars, nothing more than a day’s worth of bus fare, but for the most part, it was untouched. What was he trying to accomplish then if he didn’t keep Johnny’s money? Just wanted to bruise his pride and steal his favorite jacket? God. That made Johnny madder than if he actually took the twenties from his wallet.

Johnny wasn’t going to let him just get away with it.

But he was going to have to find the Spider-Man first.

* * *

Peter was grabbing a bite to eat when the text came through.

_RR: Scanner called code 1-07SPI. Near Tisch Hospital. Police barricades at 34 th and 1st Ave._

Any police codes including SPI guaranteed Peter had a photo assignment. He was one of the only photographers who were talented (luck, as Jameson described it) who could guarantee clear photos related to SPI codes, or super-powered incidents.

He shoved the untouched hoagie into his bag, slipped his phone into his leather jacket’s pocket, grabbed his water bottle and dashed out of the deli. He wasn’t too far, he had left the Daily Bugle’s newsroom frustrated with no assignments.

“Bug off, Parker,” J. Jonah Jameson told him during the budget meeting. “We have Sunday’s layout planned. We don’t need any crime photos.”

“We’ll text you if something comes up,” Robbie Robertson reassured.

Peter had planned on creating his own assignment – either photographing the Spider-Man swinging between buildings or causing his own destruction. But with the new call, he didn’t have to.

He left his suit in the bag, knowing that as long as he kept his hood up, He could swing between buildings to get across Manhattan faster than the subway. When he got closer, he dropped to ground level, pulled his camera out of his bag and ran the rest of the way.

It wasn’t too soon until he hit the police line at the scene, keeping the residents of Kips Bay at a distance. Peter groaned as he fought his way to the front of the line, realizing he was nowhere close to the fight. He needed to get closer, and he knew the police officers wouldn’t let him.

He squeezed his way back out of the crowd and down an alleyway and scaled the wall, climbing to the rooftop. From there, he made his way closer to the action.

Finding his way back to the ground, Peter found a great spot and angled the camera toward the East River. The channel was overflowing, flooding the service road to challenge the FDR Freeway with rushing water. Many had already abandoned their cars, not wanting to fight traffic in search for safety in the buildings. Others remained in their car, praying that the water would push them further into the city and away from the action.

Peter remained unfazed by the action, knowing that the price of the photos was worth more than worry and fear. He took photos of cars being swept by the water, people running in fear, all with the culprits in the background.

Namor and the Fantastic Four.

Peter wasn’t sure why Namor was attacking – he thought he was an ally of the Fantastic Four – but he figured he could boil the situation down to Namor not wanting to deal with Reed Richard’s bullshit and wanting Sue Storm to come home with him.

Either way, Peter really didn’t care why Namor was here. He just wanted to get photos for a pretty paycheck.

Peter quickly changed the aperture and adjusted the shutter speed as he angled his camera back at the superheroes, almost using the view finder to watch them fight – well, until he remembered to press the shutter button.

The way the team fought was, well,  _fantastic_.

Invisible Woman stood strong, using her force fields as a dam to keep the water low. Mr. Fantastic moved quickly and smoothly, flowing quickly through the air up toward Namor much like the water attempted to below. The Thing was big and moved like a boulder, not at all clumsily. He was quick to help cars from overturning from the strengths of the water and quick to switch to offense when he saw his chance.

But Johnny –  _the Human Torch_  – was ultimately breathtaking.

The way he ignited in flames and flew through the sky. The way he controlled his fire was second nature and truly captivating.

Peter pulled the camera away from his face to adjust the ISO to get a better photo of the man’s flames. He looked up, quickly being swept up into the arms of the Human Torch and pulled off the ground.

“Don’t worry,” Johnny said loudly, fighting the roar of his flames. “I got you –“ He set the photographer down on a nearby rooftop. A quick glance at the man’s face made Johnny’s already adrenaline-induced heartbeat beat harder. He kept his tone even and reassuring as he flamed off. “You’ll be safe here.”

“I was fine down there,” Peter snapped. “I  _needed_  to be down there –“

“Well, you  _shouldn’t_  even be here,” Johnny said, a little surprised at the ungratefulness of the man. He  _saved_  him. He quickly changed his tone to match Peter’s.  “It’s not safe. The police –“

“Do I look like I care?” Peter said. “I can look out for myself. Not like you guys are.”

“Did you miss the fact that I just saved you from an ultimate death of drowning?”

“Do you care to remind me why Namor is here in the first place?” Peter asked snarkily, as they both knew Namor was instigated by the Fantastic Four.

Johnny wrinkled his brow. “And you care, why?”

Peter reached inside his leather jacket, pulling out a rarely used lanyard with his identification. “Peter Parker, Daily Bugle.”

“Fuck me,” Johnny groaned, running his fingers through his blonde hair. Peter watched as his ends sparked with flaming frustration. He smirked. It was still cute.

“So, Mr. Storm,” Peter started, putting away his ID. “What caused Namor to come and visit his  _favorite_  land dwell–“

Johnny grabbed Peter’s wrist, quickly letting to go move his grip to his leather jacket, revealing the warm autumn lining inside. “This. This is mine.”

God, Peter was an idiot.

“As if,” Peter smacked Johnny’s hand away. “Unless you sell your lines on H&M’s clearance rack, it’s not yours.”

“It’s designer,” Johnny said, stepping closer to Peter. He was a few degrees from completely igniting on fire, and Peter could tell he was on thin ice. “Where did  _you_  get it?”

“I  _told_  you. H&M clearance rack,” Peter said, stepping forward to challenge Johnny. “Or maybe I got lucky at a thrift shop. I don’t keep my receipts.”

“Uh-huh,” Johnny said, taking the edge of the jacket in his grip. “Because I just lost this – “

“Johnny!”

He let go of Peter, letting the sound of his sister’s voice pull him to the edge of the building.

“We’re not done here,  _Peter_ ,” Johnny said. “I’ll be back in five.”

“Yeah, right,” Peter huffed as he watched Johnny ignite and take off. He quickly took one last shot before walking to the opposite side of the building, pulling his hood back up. Quickly escaping as he scaled down the walls and swung into the alleyways away from the scene. All he had to do was to head back to the Bugle and turn in his photos for the day.

Easy money.

Except now the Human Torch knew his name.

And he knows that his jacket was stolen by the Spider-Man.

Peter either needs to throw misdirection at the Human Torch – which would mean he probably needs to go back to the roof top and play dumb – or he needs to take him out.

Peter would rather do the latter.

Part of him wishes he could just let him know his identity and befriend the Human Torch. Thinking that it would be nice to be friends with another super-powered person – someone he could relate to.

But they live different lives.

Johnny was a hero.

He was good.

Peter was not.

And Peter knew he wanted more than just a friend – or less than a friend. No matter how he put it, there was no way Johnny Storm – the Human Torch – would be caught anywhere around the Spider-Man unless there were fireballs flying toward Peter.

* * *

“Okay, buddy. We gotta –“ Johnny glanced around the empty rooftop, with not a thieving man in sight. He flamed off, running his hand through his hair. “Fuck.”

“Johnny,” Sue’s voice called from behind him. “If you’re going to mope on rooftops, the least you could do is let us know. We’re all waiting for you.”

“I’m not moping,” Johnny said, leaning off the edge. “I was thinking.”

“That could be dangerous,” Sue teased. “Didn’t you bring someone up here?”

“That’s who I was thinking about,” Johnny said. “He’s gone.”

“So he left,” Sue said, crossing her arms. “Went through the rooftop access door –“

“Except the alarm would sound,” Johnny said, gesturing to the empty rooftop. “The roof isn’t accessible to its tenants. The door should’ve been locked.”

“So what are you suggesting,” Sue asked. “That he just jumped off?”

“That he climbed down.”

“With what fire escape?” Sue laughed.

“No, Sue, I mean –“ He mimed rock climbing. “Climbed down. I think he was the Spider-Man.”

Sue’s expression hardened. “What do you mean that you think he’s the Spider-Man?”

“He had my jacket,” Johnny said. “The one that Spider-Man stole. He got defensive about it when I said he took mine –“

“Anyone is going to get defensive when you accuse them of theft,” Sue said. “Plus, that doesn’t prove anything. Jackets are mass produced all the time –“

“It was designer!” Johnny huffed, leaning back against the ledge.

“I’m sure he has a friend who lives in this building who let him inside.” Sue could tap into that motherly tone easily, working her way to calm Johnny.

“That’s still going to set off the alarm,” Johnny said. “I swear, he’s gotta be the Spider-Man. I’ll just have to find him again –“

“If he is the Spider-Man, then you shouldn’t be around him,” Sue said sternly. “You know how dangerous he is.”

“I know, that’s why I’m trying to stop him!”

“It sounds like you’re trying to get your leather jacket back.”

“It’s designer, Sue!” Johnny groaned. “I worked hard on it.”

“Johnny, you are not to approach him without us,” Sue warned. “He’s a murderer. I don’t want to see your name in the Daily Bugle as the newest Spider-Tracer victim. If you’re going to stop him, then you better have the team behind you.”

Johnny clenched his jaw. No wonder the Daily Bugle’s coverage of the murders have been so quick. They have the murderer on the pay roll.

“Now come on, stop brooding. Let’s go.”

“Okay,” Johnny ignited, and followed his sister back to the team. He knew she was right. She always was.

But Johnny couldn’t help but wonder about the Spider-Man. How did he get his powers? Why did he turn to crime? What was he trying to do?

He knew he couldn’t get his answers unless he was able to stop Spider-Man and actually have a conversation with him.

Something that very much seemed unlikely until he spotted a shadow move between alleyways a few days later.

Johnny flamed on, chasing the shadow, confirming his suspicion when he saw the white webs maneuvering the shadow man the following day.

“Hey!”

Peter swore under his breath. He didn’t need to turn around to see who was coming behind him. The roars of his flames gave it away. He wanted to have this confrontation with him … just not now.

Peter continued swinging, needing to focus on his task. He can’t let Johnny distract him.

“Hey!” Johnny called again, speeding up to catch up. “We need to talk!”

“No thanks,” Peter called back, changing direction, attempting to shake Johnny.

“Wait!” Johnny quickly looped in the air, following Peter. He kept close on Peter’s tail. “Seriously!  _Peter,_ wait –“

Peter shot a single web to a flag pole, using his momentum to swing around and change his direction toward Johnny –  _feet first_.

“Whoa –“ Johnny stopped in his tracks, quickly flaming off to drop a few feet before reigniting and flying behind Peter. “What was that?”

“Do  _not_  call me that!” Peter snapped.

“Like anyone would hear me up here,” Johnny rolled his eyes. Peter took his opportunity while Johnny was distracted, shooting two web pellets at Johnny.

The impact webbing quickly snuffed out Johnny’s flames – quickly expanding across his chest and around his knees. Johnny’s eyes widened as he started to fall – Peter shot a single web strand to catch him and pulled him up toward the top of the building before dropping him on the roof top.

“Can you quit doing this?” Johnny snapped.

“No,” Peter said, squatting down next to Johnny. “No. Not until we talk.”

“Fine. Great. This is just what I wanted,” Johnny huffed. “I want my jacket back –“

“Oh no,” Peter said. “I get to pick what we’re talking about.”

“Great,” Johnny said, knocking his head gently against the rooftop. “Just great. Now I get to listen to how you  _didn’t_  mug me and how you  _didn’t_  steal my jacket --”

“Oh I mugged you.” Johnny could swear that Spider-Man was smirking under the mask. He knelt down next to Johnny, gently pushing his shoulder back to the cement. “But that’s not what I’m wanting to talk about.”

“So what do you want to talk about?” Johnny asked, accepting his fate on the rooftop and closed his eyes. The least he could do was enjoy the warmth of the sun … and hopefully use that energy to help burn away at the webs around his body, knowing if he started early, he might be able to break out quicker. “Current events? The Yankees season? I’m more of a Mets fan, but it’s whatever floats your boat, Pete –“

“That’s what I want to talk about.”

Johnny cracked an eye open. “Boating?”

Spider-Man’s hand quickly grabbed a fistful of Johnny’s visible shirt, jerking him off the ground with little effort, attempting to shake the sarcasm out of Johnny. “That name.”

“Your name, you mean,” Johnny said.

“Not …  _my_  name,” Spider-Man said. “Just  _that_  name.”

“What about  _Peter_?” Johnny said, smirking. He knew better.

“Stop saying it!”

“Why?” Johnny grinned. “Is it because it’s yours? It was on your Bugle badge. You showed it to me, remember?”

Johnny could almost see the Spider-Man’s brow furrow. His exhale sounded like a soft swear.

“So, do you always sell your selfies to the Bugle, or just the ones where you’re committing crimes?”

“Maybe it’s a fake name,” Spider-Man snipped, a little too defensively.

“So Peter  _is_  selling selfies –“

“I could be a Ben,” Spider-Man said. “Not Peter. Ben.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,  _Peter_ ,” Johnny grinned. He adjusted himself into a sitting position, as best as he could in this predicament, leaning closer to the Spider-Man fearlessly. “I promise I won’t tell. So, tell me: who all knows about your secret identity?”

He could watch the defeat wash over Spider-Man, turning into hesitant acceptance.

“If you keep your mouth shut: you, an ex-girlfriend, and an ex-colleague,” Spider-Man –  _Peter_  – scowled. “If you don’t, then that’s one less person on my list that’s still breathing. Actually, narrow that list down to two anyway.”

“Shit,” Johnny said, attempting to flame on. The tight webs kept his flames out. He scoots back, fighting Peter’s grip on his shirt. “I said I wasn’t going to –“

“I wasn’t speaking about you,” Peter clarified. “I’m in the middle of something and you interrupted me.”

“Oh no,” Johnny’s expression dropped. Somewhere along the teasing, he forgot he was dealing with the Spider-Man – a known murderer. “No, no, no, no, no. I’m not letting you go and kill your ex or … your ex – I can’t let you do that.”

“How are you going to stop me, Flame Brain?” Peter said, open palm against Johnny’s chest, pushing him backward. “All tied up … you must be used to it. Being busy, I mean.”

Johnny pushed back against Peter’s palm, ready to spit sarcasm back to Peter right as something behind Peter caught his eye. “We got company.”

Peter grabbed Johnny by the top of his webs, flipping over Johnny in a swift motion, quickly pulling him back and away from their unwelcomed guest.

“Kidnapping heroes, are you Spider?” The Vulture sneered, reaching out and grabbing Johnny’s ankle, slowly pulling him in. “I thought you were turning a new leaf?”

“I’m willing to stop anyone who gets in my way,” Peter’s voice was low and rough, his grip tighter on Johnny’s webs. “That includes you. Let go, Vulture.”

“How about you both let go?” Johnny suggested. “Count of three: one –“

Both of the men’s grips tightened, Johnny yelped as the Vulture dug his talons into his skin. Peter moved his attention from the Vulture to Johnny before quickly readjusting his grip to wrap his arm around Johnny’s chest. With his free hand, he shot webs into the Vulture’s face, temporarily blinding him.

The Vulture let go, quickly grasping at his face to pull away the webs.

Peter used his leverage on Johnny to quickly pull him away and toss him farther back on the rooftop. Johnny groaned as his shoulder hit the concrete.

“Stay back.”

“Yeah, totally had other plans,” Johnny rolled his eyes, working against the webs to sit up. “I can help –“

“Not your fight,” Peter warned, stepping away from Johnny and toward the Vulture.

“You’re dead, Spider,” The Vulture hissed, ripping the webbing off his face.

The Vulture leaped toward Peter, talons first.

Johnny watched as Peter almost waited until the last minute to move, quickly finding his acrobatic escape and position himself behind the Vulture – who wasn’t stopping and now coming toward Johnny.

“ _Fuck_  –“

The Vulture stopped moving forward.

And was quickly yanked back toward Peter.

Peter’s webs were tight around the Vulture’s ankles as he swung him into the AC unit. His back hit the metal with a loud bang. Sparks flew from his outspread wings, convulsing with broken circuits. Peter sprinted toward Johnny, quickly grabbing at the front of his webs. “We need to go.”

“You’re running from a fight?” Johnny asked, more surprised than anything. “You don’t seem like –“

“The type, yeah, yeah,” Peter said, yanking Johnny up by his webs and pulling him to the side of the rooftop. “I also don’t seem like the guy who wants to die by a big orange rock-man for letting  _you_  die.”

“Alright, great,” Johnny said. “So, you gonna free me?”

“I don’t have any dissolvent,” Peter said, wrapping his arm around Johnny’s waist, pulling him in. “So, nope. We’re gonna have to do this the ol’ fashion way.”

Before Johnny had the chance to ask or even the chance to even try to push Peter away, they were falling. God. This isn’t how Johnny wanted to die. He should’ve listened to Sue when she told him to leave the Spider-Man alone. Johnny was just waiting for the moment that he let go of his waist.

But he didn’t.

He shot out a single web, catching a gargoyle and swung them away from the danger of the Vulture – from the immediate death of falling to the streets of New York City.

“You didn’t think I was going to drop you, did you?”

Johnny glanced at Peter – spotting the curl of his mouth under the mask. God. If Johnny wasn’t tied up, he’d try to wipe that smirk off his face. “Me? Thinking that a bad guy would drop me? Never.”

“Right,” Peter said, letting go of the web to cast another. “Just another bad guy here. Saving your ass from –“

“We wouldn’t be in this situation if you would’ve just talked like a normal human being!”

“Oh, so it’s  _my_  fault that you lost a jacket!”

“Uh,  _yeah_! It is –“

A sudden jolt backward pulled the wind out of Johnny’s lungs as the webs tightened against his chest.

“You can’t keep quiet, huh, Spider?” The Vulture laughed. His talons tightened against their backs. “Always needing the last word. I’m sure the Doctor will be amused with this – two for the price of one.”

Johnny felt the webs pull tighter against his chest. He glanced at the Spider-Man, as he fought against the Vulture’s grip.

“I’m pretty sure this is called kidnapping, Adrian,” Peter said. He freed one of his wrists, reaching out to web one of the Vulture’s metal wings together.

Quickly, they started to drop in altitude. Johnny regretted not listening to his sister. This is not how he wanted to prove her right.

“Let go, Vulture!” Peter demanded.

With a quick grin, the Vulture let go:  _of Johnny._

“Damn it, damn it, damn it!” Johnny said, attempting to flame on.  He was hoping that the adrenaline would be enough for him to find a way to flame on. Now, he just has to hope he could land on something other than the concrete.

Johnny felt the air pulled out of him again as his web-restraints were pulled upward.

Still in the Vulture’s grip, Peter maneuvered himself to face downward and grab Johnny with a web. The Vulture’s wings, now free from the webs, beat faster attempting to get Peter to drop Johnny.

Johnny watched as Peter tightened his grip around the web, his focus tightly on him. That is, until the Vulture spoke up. Johnny was too far down to hear what he said, but whatever he said caught Peter’s attention.

Peter’s head snapped up, almost angrily if Johnny guessed. Peter said something back to the Vulture. The Vulture had a sinister-looking grin. As if he had Peter right where he wanted him. Peter looked back at Johnny. It almost seemed as if he was looking through Johnny.

Johnny couldn’t hear him well, but he swore it almost sounded like Peter said he was sorry.

Then Johnny understood.

Peter let go of his web, letting go of Johnny.

At least, at this height, Johnny would come out alive. Maybe with some broken bones, but he’d be alive.

He just wish he could get out of the web cocoon that kept him powerless.

When Johnny landed, it was nothing like he expected.

He felt like he hit something soft.

There was a loud slam.

And when he opened his eyes, it was still dark.

He didn’t get it until he tried to sit up and hit his head. He swore and carefully tried to get up, noting that nothing felt broken, and pushed against the top of whatever had him entrapped.

After a strong shove, he opened the dumpster lid. The Vulture and Spider-Man were nowhere to be seen. He glanced down at the broken mattress below him, spotting a popped spring that his body luckily missed. He carefully used it to snag the web restraints and freed himself.

He ignited and took flight, searching for the Vulture and the Spider-Man.

It didn’t take very long. He saw them in the distance; a very different scene than what he left them in. He could see them fighting. Spider-Man, no longer in the Vulture’s grips, was swinging himself toward the Vulture feet first. Johnny wasn’t gone long, but he could tell that he had missed a lot.

Peter’s attack was well calculated. He hit the Vulture in his center. Hard. He knocked the Vulture back. The Vulture’s wings flapped harder, working to keep him airborne. Peter quickly swung out of the way, before the Vulture had a chance to grab him. He landed on an adjacent building, catching a quick glance at Johnny.

“Spidey!”

“Not your fight,” Peter warned. He turned back to the fight – suddenly, his senses blared. He ducked, barely missing a kick to his teeth.

The Vulture reached down and grabbed Peter with his hand, throwing him hard against the brick wall.

Johnny flew toward the Vulture, shooting fire balls in his direction. The Vulture used his wings to quickly snuff the fire out as he grabbed Peter again and threw him once more against the other building. Peter’s back hit the fire escape with a loud groan as he fell limp.

“You want him, Torch? Then, he’s all yours.” The Vulture’s laugh echoed in the alleyway as he flew away.

Johnny quickly dived, hoping he could make it in time to return the favor to Spider-Man before he hit the ground.

* * *

The sound of water running in the distance coaxed Peter out of his deep sleep. The water, calmly and steadily dripping, not at all like rain on a window. Almost muffled, as if it came from another room.

Peter hoped he wasn’t flooding the bathroom again.

The fees his landlord gave him were almost criminal. He couldn’t afford that again.

He rolled over in bed, moaning in pain as he laid flat on his back. His body ached with every movement. How long was he out?

God. For an old man, the Vulture new how to throw punches – or at least, how to throw Peter against the wall.

At least, his bed provided comfort. Soft and forgiving, hugging every curve of his body as he sunk deeper in the bed. He closed his eyes and sighed gently.

His bed?

No.

His bed was lumpy and hard. Some nights, the floor was more comfortable. Peter knew it should be replaced, thrown out, lit on fire, but he kept it because it was his and mattresses don’t come cheap.

As much as his body disagreed, Peter sat up quickly, taking in his surroundings.

This wasn’t his room. This room alone was much bigger than his apartment. The room had a rustic feel. Deep mahogany wood furniture and faux-brick panels, much like an upscale studio apartment in Morningside Heights. Large casement windows line the longest wall, borrowing the evening light from nearby skyscrapers. The whole apartment felt like a dream in his nightmare of aches.

He carefully swung his legs off the bed, attempting to wake up. He almost wanted to crawl back into the soft bed. If he was asleep, he couldn’t feel the headache that was slowly forming at the front of his head. He ran his hand over his face, then dragging it down over his chest – wincing as he touched the large bandage on his chest. The bandage? His bare skin?

“Shit,” he groaned, quickly searching the room for the top half of his costume. He needed to get out of here – fast. Whoever brought him here knows his identity. Sure, they pulled him from that alleyway and helped cleaned his wounds, but they’ve seen his face. They could point him out in a police line-up or on the Bugle’s staff list.

His ears perked up when he heard the water shut off.

He spotted his mask on the night stand on the opposite side of the bed. He lunged for it, grabbing it as he heard the door creak open. He started to force the mask on before the person started to speak.

“You really need to let your cuts breathe,” Johnny said, standing in the doorway. Peter glanced over his shoulder. His masked lopsided, barely covering one of his eyes with his dark, brown hair sticking out wildly. Johnny had to admit, he looked kind of cute. “I promise, I won’t tell anyone your identity.”

“Does your promise extend to the rest of your team?” Peter said, rolling over to sit on Johnny’s bed. He pulled the mask off, keeping it tightly in his palm.

“They’re … not here,” Johnny said, unsure how much he should tell the Spider-Man. Peter’s eyes dart to Johnny’s hands, a rag in one hand … and the top half of his suit in the other. Johnny walked to the closet, Peter’s glance heavy on him, as he pulled out an empty hanger and hung up Peter’s slightly dripping shirt. “Let me see your chest again.”

“Again,” Peter breathed, not remembering the first time. Johnny knelt on the bed in front of Peter.

“Again,” Johnny said, reaching up with his free hand to the bandage, slowly pulling it away to reveal the bloodied gash. Peter winced as Johnny blotted the dried blood away, careful of the scabs already forming. “You hit the ground pretty hard.”

“I don’t think that’s the only thing I hit,” Peter said. “I’m pretty sure I remember a brick wall or two.”

Johnny felt a smile start to form. “A few of those.”

Peter watched Johnny clean his wound – well, his attention was on his face. He watched as the corner of Johnny’s lips curled into a smile, relaxing as he grew more comfortable with Peter. God. Peter hated how much he reminded him of Gwen. His blue eyes focused on Peter’s cut, cleaning out the leftover dirt and grime that he had missed earlier. His blonde locks perfectly styled, as if they didn’t just fight the Vulture only an hour before …  _hours_  before … “How long was I out for?”

“Two hours,” Johnny said, gently wiping the excess glue from the bandage’s tape. “You woke up briefly when we got here. You almost left if I didn’t push you on the bed.”

“You didn’t push me,” Peter mumbled. Johnny laughed softly.

“You put up a good fight,” Johnny said, placing a new bandage against Peter’s chest.

“I didn’t want to be here,” Peter said. “I don’t want – I don’t need more people to know my identity.”

“I meant with the Vulture,” Johnny said, smoothing down the tape on Peter’s skin before pulling his hand away. He brought his wet rag up to Peter’s forehead, wiping the dried blood from the small, healing gash from his forehead. “How long have you been doing this?”

“Far too long. Since high school.”

“No, not that,” Johnny said, pulling the rag away from Peter. “Turning the new leaf.”

“What?”

“It’s what the Vulture said,” Johnny said, shifting his weight on the bed. “He said you were turning a new leaf. How long have you been doing that for?”

Peter hesitated.

He didn’t know Johnny. Johnny didn’t  _need_  to know him. Besides, Johnny was a hero. He doesn’t actually care about the Spider-Man. But … Peter misses having someone to talk to. Maybe things will work out differently this time. Mary Jane grew tired of his late nights, the bruises and the cuts that covered his body, and the constant worry that someone would eventually catch on. Maybe … maybe it would be easier if he would have a hero on his side for once.

“Just this year,” Peter said. “It’s not so much as turning a new leaf. It’s more about a disagreement about what’s ethical.”

“A disagreement with who?”

“Would you believe me if I said a knitting group? Clearly, we need to knit more for the homeless than our own grandchildren and Helen won’t accept that,” Peter said. He waited for a smile, which never came. He sighed before continuing. “Doc Ock is putting together a group of super villains. I was invited to join and I told them to go fuck themselves.”

“What are they planning?”

“I … I don’t know. With the group he had planned? I just know it’s bad,” Peter said honestly. “I was … I was working with him the last year as his lab assistant and I could just feel things going south. His projects were self-fulfilling and it … just didn’t feel right anymore. In the lab, I could just be Peter but he kept bringing the Spider up and didn’t want to leave Spider-Man out of things. It just got worse as it went on.”

Johnny could see that Peter was being honest, that he almost felt guilty working alongside Doc Ock in the past. “You know, my sister thinks you’re no good.”

“I am no good.”

“You’re good to me,” Johnny said softly. “You always have been.”

“I think you’re missing a time where I shoved you against a wall and stole your jacket.”

“You didn’t hit me,” Johnny continued. “You never hit me.”

“I threw you against a wall,” Peter replied. “Clearly destroying brain cells.”

“You didn’t mug the seventeen-year-old with a large wallet.”

“That’s because I thought if I played my cards right, I could bring home the homeless boy,” Peter said, a smirk playing on his lips. “Give him something that he deserved.”

“Or maybe because some part of you wants to be the good guy for once,” Johnny said, leaning forward. 

“You’re cute, Storm,” Peter said, leaning back. “I’m not going to be a good guy. Ever.”

“But you’re trying,” Johnny said. “To be good, I mean.”

“I’m trying to be better,” Peter corrected. “It’s not the same as being good.”

“Right,” Johnny said, leaning back. “Which includes not mugging me for my money or –“

“Are we going to go on about this all night?” Peter scowled. “Next time I mug you, I’ll take your money.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” Johnny said, bringing his legs up on the bed and leaning back. Peter grumpily pushed Johnny’s legs off of him, but kept him close beside him. Peter kept his hand on Johnny’s leg. “All I wanted was to be treated equally, like all your other victims.”

“You don’t want that,” Peter said, softly squeezing Johnny’s knee. A sudden realization washed over Johnny as he straightened up.

“Right,” Johnny said, pulling his legs back to him as suddenly his sister’s advice found its way past his big dumb crush. Peter was handsome, but that doesn’t take away the fact that he was dangerous. “Don’t want to end up dead in an alleyway or in the DA’s office.”

Peter studied Johnny, waiting for a punchline or some sort of explanation. He furrowed his brow when it hit him. “What are you suggesting, Storm?”

“When you pick them, do you even think about their families?” Johnny asked, getting off the bed. “Or do you forget there’s other people than just you?”

“You’re kidding me,” Peter breathed. He ran his hand through his hair. “You’re fucking – You know what? Whatever.”

Peter pushed himself off the bed, wincing in pain. God. He’ll feel better once he’s out of this hell hole of a bedroom. He pushed past Johnny, knocking his shoulder hard into his as he made his way to the closet to grab his still damp shirt.

“Whatever?” Johnny asked, grabbing Peter’s arm. “How many are dead, Peter –“

Peter jerked his arm away from Johnny. “Don’t call me that!” Johnny stepped back as Peter stepped closer, his suit balled in his hand, possibly the only thing keeping Peter from actually hitting Johnny. “Don’t you fucking say that again. It’s not  _fucking_  me. I didn’t kill the DA. I didn’t kill DeWolff. I’m not the spider tracer murderer.”

Johnny took another step back, feeling his back against the wall. God. He hoped Peter was telling the truth. He didn’t want to prove his sister right in a crime scene. “Then who is?”

“The Sinister Five,” Peter snapped, landing his fist on Johnny’s chest with a gentle thud. He took a quiet moment before exhaling and relaxing, pressing his hand flat against Johnny’s chest, almost pushing his shirt into Johnny for him to take. “Doc Ock and his group. Vulture, Hobgoblin, Shocker and Electro. They’re blackmailing me into joining them.”

“So you didn’t … “ Johnny trailed off before correcting himself. “So they killed –“

“They killed anyone that went after Spider-Man publically,” Peter said. “The DA, the police captain, the mayor candidate and the senator – I promise you, none of those were me.”

“Okay,” Johnny said, reluctantly taking the Spider-Man shirt in his hands. Peter kept his open palm against Johnny’s chest. “What about the others – there were a few more that weren’t big name political hotshots. Like the guy who ran the homeless shelter?”

“My –“ Peter stopped, hesitated before he continued. “My aunt volunteers there. At F.E.A.S.T.”

“So it’s a reminder,” Johnny said. “That they know your identity.”

“Yeah,” Peter said softly before giving a bitter laugh. “You remember that ex-coworker I wanted dead? Think it’s okay to murder him now?”

Johnny hesitated, knowing it was mainly a rhetorical question. Peter didn’t care about the answer he gave him, he was going to do whatever he wanted. But maybe Johnny could influence him to go a certain way. “If I can’t call you by your name, then what can I call you?”

The room fell silent between the two.

Johnny could swear he heard the cars on the street eighty floors below them.

“Peter,” he said. “You can call me Peter. Just … just don’t tie my name to crimes I didn’t commit.”

“Peter,” Johnny said calmly. “Let’s start over.”

“Start over?” Peter breathed.

“Start over,” Johnny said. “Like, meet again, start over.”

“Start over, like ‘pinning you to the wall and mugging you’ starting over or –“ Peter let go of his shirt, letting Johnny have it completely as he moved his hand from his chest to his shoulder, pushing him back against the wall. “Or ‘trying to bring home the homeless boy’ starting over?”

Johnny barely had time to answer before Peter leaned in, catching his lips with his own.

Peter was … overwhelming. Almost too much. As if he knew about Johnny’s attraction and was playing up for all he’s worth. As the thought of pulling away played at the edge of Johnny’s mind, Peter’s hand moved from his shoulder to cup his jaw softly as he lightened his kiss.

Peter stopped. Pulled away, just millimeters away from Johnny’s lips. Peter’s eyes danced across Johnny’s face, almost expressing a slight guilt or hesitant before he leaned back in for another gentle kiss. Something much softer and sweeter – something that Johnny is actually surprised the Spider-Man would be capable of.

No.

The Spider-Man he once knew was painted in bad light.

This was a man who was trying to be better. Trying to prove others wrong.

Peter pulled away again. Johnny leaned forward, trying to follow his lips. Peter moved his hand from Johnny’s jaw back to his chest, gently pushing back.

“I … need to go,” Peter said, grabbing the shirt from Johnny’s hands and walking away. Making out with Johnny was for his own amusement, something that his sixteen-year-old self wanted to do when Johnny kept making the covers of every issue of Teen Vogue that Gwen owned. But as soon as he pulled away and saw Johnny’s eyes, he knew he was done for. His crystal blue eyes reminded him so much of Gwen, that for a second, he could pretend he was kissing her goodbye. Her death was the death of all good in Peter, a reminder that if he tries to be good again, someone will end up hurt.

“No, wait.”

Johnny reached out, grabbing Peter’s wrist, tugging him back toward him. For a man who has been seen lifting cars, Johnny could easily pull him back.

“Stay the night.” Johnny wrapped his arms around Peter’s waist. “Please.”

“I can’t be good, you know,” Peter said, not moving an inch from Johnny’s grasp. His hand found Johnny’s jaw again, tilting him up gently as he leaned in, leaving his lips inches away from Johnny’s. “You can’t change me.”

“I know I can’t,” Johnny said. “You’ve made that pretty clear. Maybe … maybe I need some bad in me.”

“You better rephrase that,” Peter’s voice, low and steady, sent chills down Johnny’s back. “Before I take you up on that offer.”

“Offer’s on the table, Webhead,” Johnny smirked. “So are you going to be my bad, or am I going to have to call –“

Peter crashed his lips against Johnny’s before Johnny could even think of someone to name. Even if Johnny had someone he had planned on naming, Peter kissed him hard enough that Johnny couldn’t even think of another name than Peter, Peter,  _Peter_.

Johnny tightened his grip around Peter’s waist. Peter kissed with desire, but his touch gentle against Johnny’s jaw. Before they both knew it, Johnny was laying on the bed with Peter on top of him as they worked Johnny’s shirt off.

“You know your sister’s going to hate you for this,” Peter breathed as he helped pull Johnny’s shirt over his head, tossing it carelessly behind him. He closed the space between them with another hard kiss before moving his lips across Johnny’s jawline and to his neck.

“For what?” Johnny moaned as Peter nipped at his skin. Johnny moved his hand up Peter’s spine to tangle his fingers in Peter’s hair.

“For me,” Peter said, pressing a quick, almost-apologetic kiss against the bitten skin before moving his way to Johnny’s ear. “For  _The Spider-Man_.”

“She won’t know,” Johnny said, closing his eyes as he cupped Peter’s jaw with his free hand. “You can be just Peter to me.”

“I wish I was just Peter,” Peter mumbled against Johnny’s jaw before pressing another hot kiss against his skin. “Pants off, Hot Stuff.”

“Romantic,” Johnny said, wiggling underneath Peter to work off his tights. “What more could I ask for in a one night stand?”

“A marriage proposal,” Peter said, lifting his hips off of Johnny enough to work off his own tights. “A declaration of my endless devoting love.  _Oh, Jonathan_ ,” Peter moaned, pressing his lips back against Johnny’s neck, working kisses down his collarbone. “What would I ever do without you? My heart races endlessly –“ 

“Just fuck me already,” Johnny said, guiding Peter back up to his lips in a hot kiss.

With each kiss, each touch, each gasp, Johnny wanted more than just a one night stand. He watched Peter almost-smile with each moan he pulled from Johnny. Some kisses felt sweeter than others. Some touches gentle and longing. Johnny wanted it to last longer, but at the same time, he wished he never indulged. Knowing what Peter feels like – what he tastes like – will make it harder for him to let go.

He fell asleep against Peter’s chest, Peter’s fingers idly played with Johnny’s hair.

He woke up alone at five in the morning, the sunlight breaking into his room, barely enough to see there was no trace left of Peter, of the night he just had, of what he had just lost.

Johnny knew the drill.

He took a shower.

Made breakfast.

Went on with his day as if nothing happened.

But what he didn’t expect was to hear knocks on his window the following night.

He sat up in bed and glanced toward the noise, seeing a familiar shadow outside. He climbed out of his bed and let the Spider-Man in. As soon as Peter’s feet touched the hardwood floor, he pulled his mask off, letting it fall to the ground as he wrapped his arms around Johnny’s waist and pulled him in for a kiss. Peter’s gentle touches were misleading, letting Johnny forget about his strength. Without much warning, Peter picked Johnny up with a yelp and carried him to the bed, dropping him amongst the pillows. “Did you miss me, Beautiful?”

Johnny didn’t have enough time to answer before Peter crashed his lips against his.

But if he did, he would’ve said yes.

The next morning, he woke up alone.

Rinse and repeat, he guessed.

A few, rare mornings, he would wake up, and Peter would still be there, his arms wrapped tightly around Johnny’s waist. Johnny wanted to wake him with gentle kisses, but would just settle back to sleep. He would swear he felt Peter kiss him goodbye before waking up alone again.

Two weeks later, Sue, Reed and Franklin returned from their expedition. Ben had popped in and out of the Baxter Building, but he had spent most of his time with Alicia. Johnny felt more confident when he had his family back together.

Even if that did mean fighting strange villains who kept trying to take over New York City in odd ways.

Johnny was off during the battles, almost as if he was distracted. And his team knew it. He couldn’t help but think of the Spider-Man –  _of Peter_ – when he fought a villain. Peter seemed normal out of costume, a little rough and demanding, but he could be sweet and funny. Peter was framed a villain and became one, how many others were like him?

After a hard day of fighting crime, Johnny laid sprawled out on the couch next to Ben, fighting for as much room as he could get from the big guy, as they watched an action film. Ben requested “somethin’ stupid” as a relaxing, feel-good movie night. To help get their minds off of their busy afternoon with the Mole Man. Ben meant a more of a comedy, but the loud explosions and fast cars were good enough for him.

During the slower, sub-plotline of the film with an unnecessary romance between the main lead and the reluctant love interest, a loud bang came from down the hall, almost near Johnny’s room, startling both Ben and Johnny.

“Franklin!” The both shouted as they raced off the couch and toward the noise. They almost forgot they were on Franklin duty while Reed and Sue were out on a date night. The small boy must have crawled out of his bed and found his way to Johnny’s room. He just made the switch to a toddler bed a few weeks ago and had a few night wandering incidents.

Johnny was much quicker than Ben.

He flung his door open and turned on the light, in hopes that he would find Franklin safe and nowhere near the windows where Sue constantly has to remind him to lock.

The window was open.

His potted rubber tree on the ground, dirt spilled on the floor.

Spider-Man crouched beside it, pushing the dirt back into the pot.

“Hey, I’m sorry –“

Johnny slammed the door behind him, pushing his weight against it as if he would be enough to keep Ben out. “You can’t be here.”

“Glad to see you, too, Pretty Boy,” Peter said, standing the plant back up. He pulled his mask off and smiled at Johnny. “I had a slow night, so I thought I’d come and see my favorite –“

“I’m not alone,” Johnny said, rushing over to Peter, pushing him toward the window. “Ben is here.”

“Shit,” Peter pulled his mask back down, backing toward the window. “How long is he here for? I can come back –“

“He  _lives_  here,” Johnny hushed. “Haven’t you ever heard of texting first?”

“Haven’t you heard of being romantic?” Johnny swore he could hear Peter roll his eyes.

“Johnny!”

“You can tell me about it later,” Johnny gave a firm shove to Peter.

Peter, the man rumored to have stopped the A-train, the territorial villain who has gone toe-to-toe with the Rhino, one of the most feared men in all of New York City … fell backwards with Johnny’s push.

Johnny felt a little guilty, but knew Peter could handle himself better out there than what would’ve happened if Ben saw him. He started to shut the window as the door flung open.

“Where’s Franklin?” Ben asked.

“Not here,” Johnny said, locking the window. “Is he in his room?”

“The noise came from in here,” Ben said.

“The window was open,” Johnny said. “Wind must’ve knocked over my plant.”

“Wind?” Ben asked. Johnny couldn’t be that stupid. He stepped closer to Johnny. “You sure Franklin wasn’t in here? Y’know how Suzie –“

“Unca’ Ben? Unca’ Johnny?” A small voice piped up from behind Ben. Ben turned around to see the small toddler, rubbing his sleepy eye with one hand and holding a chubby Hulk stuffed-toy tightly against his chest.

“Hey Frankie,” Ben said, kneeling down. “Whatcha doin’ up so late?”

“I heard stompin’,” Franklin yawned. “Stompin’ and talkin’.”

“Aw, shucks,” Ben said, picking up Franklin in his arms. “That was us. Let’s get you back to bed. Johnny?”

“Hm?” Johnny said, still nearby the windows.

“Lock your windows,” Ben reminded, taking Franklin back to his bedroom to tuck him back into bed.

“Sure thing, buddy,” Johnny said turning back to the window, waiting a moment before unlocking it and pushing it open.

A black glove grabbed the corner of the window, pushing the window out farther before climbing back in. Johnny quickly went back to his bedroom door to push it shut, keeping Ben out. He turned back around, ready to lecture Peter about dropping in unexpectedly, before he saw what he had in his hands.

In one hand, was his mask.

In the other, was a small bouquet of flowers, a little beaten and droopy after its travels to the Baxter Building.

“Let’s try this again,” Peter said, extending the flowers toward Johnny. “Hey Beautiful, I had a slow night. Thought I’d stop by and see your pretty face.”

“Peter,” Johnny breathed, walking over to Peter and taking the flowers in his hands. Peter’s arm snaked around his waist, pulling him in closer. “I – Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Peter lifted Johnny’s chin slightly, leaning in for a kiss. “How’s that for being romantic?”

“I’m sorry I pushed you out the window,” Johnny said, running his hand up Peter’s chest.

“Are you really?”

“No,” Johnny laughed. “Hey, I can’t – I can’t do this tonight. Not with Ben here.”

“That’s actually what I wanted to talk with you about,” Peter said, running his thumb over Johnny’s cheekbone. “I’m not much of a sharer. Kind of the jealous-type. Actually, very much the jealous-type. And with a babe like you, I really,  _really_  can’t share. Can we –  do this?”

“Do this?” Johnny repeated, almost breathlessly. “As in date?”

“More like exclusivity,” Peter said. “I don’t really date.”

“Romantic,” Johnny rolled his eyes. “What if … I tell you I’m not exclusive to anyone I don’t date.”

“Maybe I’ll make an exception,” He nipped at Johnny’s lips. “How about a beer and chili fries? Sounds like a date?”

“By definition, it’s a date,” Johnny smiled. “Give me ten to shake off Ben.”

“Great,” Peter said, leaning in for longer, sweeter kiss. “That’s just – great. See you downstairs. Better not keep me waiting, Hot Stuff.”

After a quick outfit change and several minutes of convincing Ben that Wyatt Wingfoot had just invited him out and the hardest part of watching Franklin was passed. That he’d only be gone for a couple of hours and he promises he’ll make Franklin breakfast in the morning.

He won’t be long, he promised.

* * *

Outside, Peter waited, arms crossed as he leaned against the Baxter Building. Johnny had to shake off the Thing. And by his size, that might take forever.

Peter leaned his head back against the building, closing his eyes.

_“I don’t really date.”_

God. Peter hated himself. He was fully aware how he looked, crawling into Johnny’s room – off-balanced and knocking over plants with flowers in his hands. The way his voice drew out “Beautiful.”

He was lovesick and he hated it.

Peter knew that first night he was in trouble, with his fingers tangled in Johnny’s soft, blonde hair. His soft kisses against his shoulder. He should’ve left right then.

But he knew that leaving Johnny wasn’t an option.

He enjoyed having him around. His warm personality and hot kisses. Johnny was gorgeous and caring and sweet … and he believed in Peter. Believed he could be something better. Believed he could still be good. Peter wasn’t going to change his habits – he’s long past the point of return – but there was something about Johnny that made him consider it. But he knew, if he tried to be good, he might end up letting his guard down again. He couldn’t let that happen.

Not to Johnny.

God, Peter was playing with fire.

Any time he hung out with Johnny – mask or  _maskless_  – he was putting him in danger.

Johnny knew it was bad publicity to be seen with the Spider-Man, the media would drag his superhero status through the mud.

Peter knew it was a target painted on Johnny’s back by any enemy of Spider-Man. Luckily, that was only a handful of weak supervillains too fearful of the Spider-Man to even act, and a ton of superheroes that would never lay a hand on Johnny.

But Peter knew it could happen – and there were a few who knew the face under the mask.

And any time he’s around Johnny with the mask on, he’s risking his own neck with the other three of the Fantastic Four. How many times has The Thing tried to punch his face in for breaking into the Baxter Building’s labs? What was he going to do when he finds out that The Spider-Man was shoving his tongue down the Torch’s throat?

It wasn’t much longer until the front door of the Baxter Building opened.

“Hey, wasn’t expecting you here,” Johnny said.

“Did you forget me already?” Peter laughed. “I thought that would be at least months down the way.”

“Forget you?” Johnny smiled, bumping his shoulder into Peter’s shoulder. “Never. Honestly, I was expecting a suit.”

“Yeah, I’m not that fancy,” Peter said. “I was thinking fast food, cheap beer, stroll through the park – I’m a cheap date.”

“I meant the Spider-Man,” Johnny laughed, reaching over to fix Peter’s collar and catching a small glimpse of the black spandex under his button-up shirt.

“You really want to be seen with the Spider-Man?” Peter asked, gesturing for Johnny to walk with him. “I’m sure your sister will love that.”

“I meant that I just saw you in your suit,” Johnny said. “That’s how I expected to see you. You know – all black. The big spider on your chest. Those big, expressive white eyes –“

“Shut up,” Peter laughed. “Come on, I know a place.”

* * *

“You’re kidding me.”

“Nope,” Peter said, handing Johnny the hotdog. “Come on, sit a while.”

“This is your idea of a date?” Johnny asked, taking the ketchup off the cart and drew a generous squiggle-line down his hotdog. “I thought chili fries were on the table.”

“I’m trying to be romantic here,” Peter said, spooning relish between the dog and the bun. “At least acknowledge my efforts.”

Johnny rolled his eyes as Peter walked over to a bench, patting the empty spot for Johnny. Johnny walked over and sat down next to him as he ate his hotdog. Johnny didn’t get it. Did Peter think parks were romantic? Well, Johnny thought they could be, but not with cheap hotdogs that he was even sure Peter haggled for their price. Bryant Park didn’t spark Johnny’s interests as it once did when he was young and could blow off steam within a few blocks of the Baxter Building. “Did you bring me here because I almost got robbed here?”

“Technically, I saved you from being robbed,” Peter said smugly with a good bite of hotdog in his mouth.

“See?” Johnny grinned, elbowing Peter. “I told you, you were good.”

“Ha ha, you got me,” Peter deadpanned. “I’m a superhero. Double secret identity.”

“Right,” Johnny said, knowing that Peter – no matter how many times Johnny tried to tell him – will never see himself as good. “What did you end up doing with the guns?”

“The guns?”

“Yeah, the guns,” Johnny said. “Each one of those guys had a gun. I know you took one of them.”

“I took them all,” Peter said, nonchalantly. He looked at Johnny, clenching his jaw. Johnny knows that he’s done bad stuff,  _illegal_  stuff – but it’s only a matter of time before Johnny realizes how much wrong Peter has done. “I sold them to a couple of guys in Brooklyn.”

“Do you ever think about what happened after you sold the guns?”

“I … try not to think about it,” Peter said. “Sometimes, you just – you just gotta distance yourself from the trouble you create.”

“I’m afraid to ask what all you’ve done that you have to distance yourself from society,” Johnny said. He meant for it as a joke, but his tone stayed steady.

“Then don’t,” Peter said, crumpling the hotdog’s foil up in his hands. “You don’t need to know everything about me.”

“But I’d like to,” Johnny said. He took the foil from Peter’s hand and rolled it up with his, burning the foil in the palm of his hand. “Have you ever been to jail?”

Peter sucked on his cheek. He didn’t need to tell Johnny about his life. There’s no actual reason for him to. Even if he did, he didn’t need to go into detail. “We’re talking about actually being charged with a crime and needing to stay in jail, and not just being held in jail, right?”

“Oh my god,” Johnny said with a soft sigh. “I’m dating a criminal –“

“One, you should’ve already known that,” Peter said. A smirk played at his lips. “Two, I’ve never been charged for a crime.” His smirk fell as he thought about his sentence. He lightly rocked his head as he debated with himself, before adding, “As an adult.”

“So you went to juvie?” Johnny raised an eyebrow.

“For like three weeks,” Peter said in slight defense. “It was more like a boot camp than anything.”

“Did you learn anything in those three weeks?”

“How not to get caught,” Peter smirked. “You meet some interesting kids in those boot camps. The superpowers also helped keep me quick and out of sight.”

“I’m sure the black suit helped, too.”

“You’re a funny one, huh,” Peter knocked his shoulder into Johnny’s. “Yeah, it’s easier to be sneaky in an all-black spandex versus all-blue.”

“What else have you done?” Johnny asked. “Have you ever robbed a bank? Stole a car? Sold drugs?”

“What are you, a narc?” Peter laughed.

“Have you ... ,” Johnny started, trailing off. He lowered his voice, “Ever murdered someone?”

“Johnny,” Peter cooed, turning his head toward Johnny. He reached up and brushed Johnny’s hair away from his face, letting his fingers linger a little longer against his skin. “Don’t ask questions that you don’t want to know the answers to.”

“But I want to know,” Johnny said, his voice low. “I want you to trust me.”

“Trust isn’t my strong suit, Hot Stuff,” Peter leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss against Johnny’s lips before pulling away and standing up. “Come on, let’s go catch a late showing.”

“Why me?” Johnny asked.

“Because we’re out on a date,” Peter awkwardly laughed. “I thought you knew –“

“No, I mean why hang out with me?” Johnny asked, standing up. “You keep saying you’re no good for me. So, why  _date_  me?”

“I – “ Peter stopped in his tracks. Johnny’s honest blue eyes watched him carefully, reminding him of Gwen. In his chest – the once aching heart, now beating steadfast – he knew that it wasn’t the blue eyes or the blonde hair that reminded him of Gwen. It was the constant reminder that Peter could be better – that he should be better. That it was something he could do … if he had the right support. “Because you … keep me grounded. You make me want to be good.”

“So why don’t you?”

“Because if I’m good and someone hurts you,” He gently cupped Johnny’s face, his thumb slowly running over Johnny’s cheekbone. Peter’s steady and firm tone sent chills down Johnny’s back. Peter pulled his hand away. “There’s no turning back from what I would do to them.”

Johnny pressed his lips together, nodding gently. He wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Some part of him hoped that Peter was joking, but the other part of him knew Peter meant much more than just hurting someone back. That Peter wasn’t sure how far he’d go – if he would hold any restrain.

“Plus it helps that you’re pretty hot.”

“I’m sure it does,” Johnny finally said, a smile played at his lips. He reached out and tangled his fingers with Peter’s. “Okay, let’s go. But I get to pick the movie.”

“The choice is all yours,” Peter said, stealing one last kiss before pulling Johnny toward the movie theater.

The entire way to the theater, Peter’s words played in Johnny’s head.

_‘Don’t ask questions that you don’t want to know the answers to.’_

He wanted to know. That’s why he asked.

But what if Peter said yes?

Johnny was ready to back off of him when he thought he was the Spider Tracer Killer. He couldn’t date a murderer. Secret identity or not, murder takes everything off the table.

But Peter was gentle with him – the way he touched his cheek, the way he kissed him, the way he held his hand – he was  _gentle_. Peter didn’t kill. He couldn’t.

Could he?

He’s hurt before. Johnny knew that. There’s so many stories about the Spider-Man beating someone on the streets into a bloodied pulp. Someone’s claimed they’ve been stabbed by the Spider-Man, another choked by his webs.

But he was gentle!

He was gentle  _to Johnny_.

And … maybe that’s all that matters.

As much as Johnny hated to admit it, that may be all it takes for him to turn a blind eye to the violence.

* * *

Johnny woke up to fingers gently combing through the back of his hair and soft pinging of a phone. He lifted his head up gently, remembering he didn’t make his way home last night.

“Good morning, Beautiful,” Peter locked his phone, setting it aside. He pressed a gentle kiss against Johnny’s temple. “Sleep well?”

“With you as a pillow?” Johnny said, laying back down on Peter’s chest. “Yeah, I slept well. Your bed is uncomfortable though.”

“Not everybody can afford to sleep on clouds,” Peter said, wrapping his free hand around Johnny’s waist. He pressed another kiss to the top of Johnny’s head, mumbling in his hair. “You’re probably the closest to Heaven I’ll get.”

“If your Heaven is playing Bejeweled with me on your chest in a lumpy bed on a Saturday morning, just wait until you decide to stay past 7 am in my bed.”

“Oh shit,” Peter mumbled before slipping out from underneath Johnny, grabbing his underwear off the floor and slipping it on. Johnny propped himself on his elbows as he watched Peter search for clothes.

“You know this is your place, right?” Johnny teased. “You can stay as long as you want.”

“No it’s not that –“ Peter said, hopping on one foot as he forced his jeans over his hips. “I just – I meet with my aunt on Saturdays. For brunch.”

“Brunch?” Johnny asked. “You do brunch?”

“Yeah,” Peter’s voice was muffled behind his shirt. With a soft tug of the bottom hem, Peter’s head popped through the neck hole, slightly annoyed. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“No, not at all,” Johnny said. “It’s just … I never expected the Spider-Man to do brunch.”

“Yeah, well, he does,” Peter huffed as he grabbed a fresh pair of socks from the top dresser drawer and slipped them on. “There’s no mimosas, no omelets, no country clubs. Just me and my aunt and wheatcakes.”

“Sounds cute.”

“Shut up.” Peter threw yesterday’s shirt at Johnny. “I know you do brunch. I’ve seen the photos.”

“So you keep up with me?” Johnny raised an eyebrow.

“Get dressed before I throw you out naked.”

“Who do I need to write to at the Bugle to let them know that the Spider-Man reads Us Weekly?” Johnny laughed. “Or do you follow TMZ?”

“You’re just a popular topic around the office,” Peter groaned, regretting bringing it up. “Plus you trend on Twitter way too much.”

“You follow me on Instagram, don’t you?”

Peter threw Johnny’s jeans at him. “Come on. I gotta go.”

Johnny grabbed his jeans and slid out of bed. He slowly worked his jeans up, taking his time when he knew Peter’s eyes glanced in his direction. “So the big, bad Spider-Man does brunch.”

“Will you let that go?” Peter growled. His tone softened when Johnny wrapped his arms around his neck. Peter willingly gave up, wrapping his arms around Johnny’s waist. He buried his face into Johnny’s neck and mumbled, “Lots of people do brunch.”

“None of them tried to rob Federal Reserve.”

Peter mumbled against Johnny’s neck between kisses. Johnny closed his eyes, tangling his fingers in the back of Peter’s hair as he attempted to lead him toward the bed. Until he thought about what Peter said against his skin. He tugged against Peter’s hair for him to pull away. “Wait, what?”

“I robbed the bank,” Peter said, pressing another kiss against Johnny’s neck. “Nobody’s going to admit that the Reserve was robbed by some costumed freak.”

“You?” Johnny asked again. “How much did you take? Twelve bucks? Your mattress sucks ass.”

“It’s my mattress and I’ll have it as lumpy as I want,” Peter said.

“You robbed the Federal –“

Peter covered Johnny’s mouth with his hand. “Not everyone in my building needs to know, Hot Stuff.”

Peter moved his hand, quickly replacing it with a gentle kiss.

“Not everybody needs the best,” Peter said. “You put the money away and take only what you need.”

“Like my jacket,” Johnny said.

“We’re dating now,” Peter said, pressing another quick kiss against Johnny before pulling away to find his shoes. “It’s  _our_  jacket.  Get your shirt on. I’ll walk you out.”

“Right,” Johnny said slipping his shirt over his head. “Before your wheatcakes get cold.”

* * *

Johnny flew back to the Baxter Building, finding his way into his bedroom through an unlocked window. He slipped in quietly, locking the window behind him. He tossed off his shoes, slipping off his jeans to switch to pajama pants to look more like he spent the night at home.  

He stopped at his dresser, admiring the flowers Peter had brought him. The orange roses, surrounded by baby’s breath, were a little beaten by Peter’s travel to the Baxter Building. Some petals were a little wearier than others, but the flowers still stood proudly in the glass vase. Johnny ran his thumb over a loose petal, picking it off gently. He wasn’t sure when the last time he received flowers – or if he had ever received flowers. Maybe when he was young, but those would never match up to Peter’s gift.

He leaned in, taking the scent of the bouquet in, before heading out to the kitchen.

“Good morning, Sweetheart,” Sue called from the kitchen counter as Johnny walked in. “I’m making waffles, do you want any?”

“I’m fine,” Johnny said, reaching above her for a bowl. “Cereal sounds appetizing.”

“Milk’s on the table,” Sue said, taking a small, colorful plate to the table. She carefully cut the waffle into small pieces for Franklin. “Franklin behave for you two last night?”

“As always,” Johnny said, walking to the table with his bowl full of cereal. He ruffled Franklin’s hair. “We handled those outlaws, huh, Franklin?”

“Yeah!” Franklin cheered, mouthful of waffles. “We were good cowboys.”

“Good to hear,” Sue laughed. “So, who brought you the flowers?”

Johnny’s head snapped up from his breakfast. “What?”

“The flowers in your room,” Sue said, setting a sippy cup full of orange juice in front of Franklin. “You know they still need water, right? I put them in a vase.”

“Oh, uh,” Johnny rubbed the back of his neck, searching for a quick excuse that’s not ‘the Spider-Man brought those.’ “Wyatt. He thought I needed a pick-me-up. We went out for drinks last night, too.”

“Yeah an’ left me alone on Franklin Duty,” Ben grumbled, pulling out his chair. “He said he was makin’ breakfast.”

“Give him a break, Ben,” Sue said, pushing the plate of toasted Eggo waffles towards Ben.

“Wyatt an’ him go out all the time,” Ben rolled his eyes. Johnny swore if Ben rolled his eyes any further, they’d get stuck. “Nothin’ special about that.”

“Ben,” Sue warned, walking around the table to personally hand Ben the peanut butter. She lowered her voice, almost to a level where Johnny couldn’t hear.

_Almost_.

He made out the sentence, “He brought him  _flowers._ ” And “Make him  _comfortable_.” And the words, “their  _own_  terms.”

God. Johnny wanted to die now. It was like he wasn’t even there.

“I’m not dating Wyatt,” He snapped. “We’re not dating. I told you, they were just pick-me-ups. We’re just friends.”

“Johnny, those flowers were more than ‘just friends’ flowers,” Sue said. “Ben, you saw them when Wyatt came by. Aren’t those flirting flowers?”

“Right,” Ben said slowly, looking at Johnny. Ben knew Wyatt never stepped foot inside the Baxter Building. Ben knew Johnny just got back this morning – that was the same shirt that he left in last night. Ben knew he caught Johnny in a lie. Johnny just had to figure out how many lies Ben knew about. “Flirtin’ flowers.”

“Okay,” Johnny huffed. “I’ll talk to him about the … flirting flowers.”

“Good,” Sue said, taking the empty plate from the table and pushing two waffles onto the plate. “You two would make a cute couple. How long have you been friends?”

“A while,” Johnny said, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “Long enough that my big sister keeps trying to hook us up.”

“See? Should’ve taken my advice earlier.” She spread an even layer of peanut butter between the two waffles and picked up a fork. “I’m taking this down to Reed. He’s still downstairs dissecting that tentacle. Watch after Franklin for a minute?”

“Wait, I come with,” Franklin said, arms raised to Sue. She shot a gentle look towards the men before helping Franklin from his chair.

“This big boy’s coming with,” Sue said, handing Franklin a bottle of water from the counter. “And he’s going to take water for his daddy. Right, Franklin?”

“Right!” Franklin said, grabbing Sue’s hand and pulling her out of the kitchen toward the elevator.

“Flirtin’ flowers,” Ben scoffed. Turning his attention to the tablet Reed had created for him. His chubby, rocky fingers gently slid across the screen and he scrolled for what seemed endlessly.  

“Yeah,” Johnny huffed. “You got a problem with Wyatt and me?”

“Nope,” Ben said. “Not with Wyatt.”

“Just with me?” Johnny said, shoving a scoop of cereal into his mouth.

“Nope,” Ben said, sliding the tablet over to Johnny. The front page of some scummy celebrity news site featured two photos – one of two men sitting on a bench, eating hotdogs, the other of them sharing a gentle kiss. Blurry photos aside, Johnny knew that was him and Peter. The unnecessarily large print read ‘NEW LOVE SPARKS FOR THE HUMAN TORCH’. Johnny wanted to die. “With you and your new boy toy.”

“Ha,” Johnny said, pushing the tablet away. “Funny. Stop reading junk with obviously photoshopped photos –“

“Don’t lie, Matchstick,” Ben said. “You ain’t never been good at that.”

“Okay, so they weren’t from Wyatt,” Johnny crossed his arms. “Why do you care?”

“Cause you’re hiding somethin’,” Ben said. “And if you’re hidin’ him from us, then there’s a reason.”

“Maybe … I just don’t want you all in my business,” Johnny stood up, picking up his bowl. He wasn’t going to be interrogated before noon. “I’m done here.”

“Y’know we care about you,” Ben called out.  “You’re too soft on the ones you love. We don’t want you hurt.”

“He’s not going to hurt me,” Johnny said. A confirmation. A promise. Peter wouldn’t hurt him.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure, Ben,” Johnny said, walking out of the kitchen. “I know him better than the city does.”

* * *

Peter was with his aunt when he got the text.

He was washing dishes while she was busy clearing the tables. He ignored it at first, assuming it had been Jameson, requesting his photos hours before deadline. As soon as the last plate hit the dish rack, he pulled out his phone, hoping he didn’t make a mistake and ignore a tip from Robbie.

Instead, he wanted to crush his phone.

The photo captured an unguarded Peter laughing, with one hand gentle across Johnny’s cheek and the other on his hip; a soft moment shared carefree outside the theater, now plastered across his screen.

The text is what really angered him.

_‘Shame if anything happened to him.’_

Peter barely looked up at Aunt May before storming out the back door, phone to his ear. He paced alongside the small shed in the yard, waiting for the rings to stop. He had to either identify the voice … or hope his recent project worked.

The line clicked on. A soft beep told Peter that the app was working.

“I thought you’d call,” the voice echoed.

“What gave you that idea,” Peter said, his temper short. “Was it the blackmail or the threat?”

“Feisty tonight, aren’t you?”

“You have the wrong number,” Peter snapped, stepping around the shed and out of view of his aunt. The voice, distorted in sound, almost vibrated through the speakers. Not quite booming, but almost an echo of itself.

“No,” The voice sneered. “I have the  _Spider_  tangled in his own webs.”

“No, you thought you had someone who could be terrified by your empty threats,” Peter said. “If you’re calling me, you’re asking for bones to match your broken voice box.”

“Don’t you recognize me, Spider?” The voice said, almost multiplying as it grew in confidence. “We’re still a team, aren’t we?”

Peter shut his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. He’s got to be fucking kidding. He swung his fist down, smacking it against the shed with a dent left in its place. “Electro. How are you doing without Herman? He’s still on Rikers?”

“You’d know if you’d show up –“

“I’m sorry, it’s just my knitting group meets on Monday nights and –“

“And you’re fucking the Human Torch on every other night?”

“Such strong language, Max,” Peter griped. “But if you have a problem with  _my knitting group_ , you know you can always let me know. I’m willing to talk things out.”

“You?” Electro laughed. “Talk things out?”

“Well, it’s more my fists that do the talking,” Peter said. “You know how they are, Maxie. All talk.”

“You want to  _talk_  things out?” Electro’s voice grew in multitudes as he grew frustrated with Peter. “Fine. You know when and where. Bring all or nothing, Spider. We need to talk. We  _all_  need to talk.”

“Got it,” Peter said. “All my friends in one place. It’s exactly what I wanted.”

“You don’t sound so charmed.”

“Did you forget your pathetic attempts at blackmail?” Peter hissed. “Just because it’s pathetic doesn’t mean I’m going to let it slide.”

“See you Monday.”

“Fuck you.”

Peter hung up, quickly switching to his self-made app. He scrolled for a few moments before a location popped up.

“Found you, Max,” Peter said, quickly saving the location before running his hand through his hair, attempting to calm himself. He shouldn’t be this worked up over Johnny. He shouldn’t be worked up over any threats from Electro. He should calm down first before acting.

But this is Peter.

He put his phone into his pocket and ran back inside.

“Aunt May, I gotta go,” He said, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. “Thanks for the wheatcakes.”

“Is everything alright?” Aunt May asked, stopping Peter with a gentle hand on his arm. “I heard you arguing.”

“Yeah,” Peter nodded. “It’s just … the Bugle – They cut my check short. Again.”

“Do you need help on rent?” Aunt May asked. “You know you can always ask –“

“No, no,” Peter said. “I can’t take your money. Your money’s no good at my landlord’s bank. He told me that specifically.”

“Peter.”

“It’s the bank’s rules. No money from May Parker,” he pressed another quick kiss against her cheek before pulling away and grabbing his bag from the table. “I’ll call you later.”

* * *

Peter’s self-made app beeped steadily as it tracked Electro location – locked on his phone from the call – as it followed Electro through Bronx, travelling south.

It was almost as if Electro was coming to meet Peter – to meet the Spider-Man – as if he was ready for a fight. Peter swung through Brooklyn, keeping a loose eye on the crosshair on the phone’s screen, watching in case Electro made any detours. Worst case scenario, Electro finds himself anywhere in a fifteen-block radius of the Baxter Building.

And Electro better hope for his own sake he doesn’t step across the Queens County line.

But as soon as Electro got to the East River, he stopped.

Peter wasn’t sure what he was doing.

There wasn’t much there – breweries, water treatment plants, shipping yards, a few parks – but nothing that would truly interest Max Dillon.

Until Peter remembered Rikers Island.

Sure enough, as Peter got closer, stoplights were flickering, with some completely off and wrecks in the middle of intersections. A sure sign that Electro was nearby.

Peter followed the curve of the river, finding Electro draining the power from the neighborhood.

“Come on, Max,” Peter called as he swung toward Electro. “The electric bills are already criminal – now you’re stealing from the Bronx, too?”

Electro reached out toward him, sending shockwaves in Peter’s direction. “Did you miss me, Spider?”

“Not as much as I’m sure you miss me,” Peter swung out of Electro’s line of fire. “Oh please tell me you missed me.”

Electro sparked, shooting small sparks and electricity from his shoulders and chest. His metal vest, covered in conduits, capacitors and coils, was an invention of Peter’s, from when he was working alongside the Sinister Five, to help keep Electro regulated. To keep his outbursts under control. To allow him to store excess power to use during fights.

“Oh,  _you_  missed me!” Peter grinned. “Doc Ock hasn’t figured out how to fix your suit yet, has he?”

“It may have a few bugs,” Electro said, charging up. The conduits started to glow. Coils sparked. Peter shifted his weight, ready for his attack. “But he fixed it to squash bugs!”

Electro released his energy – lightning shooting in every direction. Peter leaped backwards, out of harm’s way, using his spider-sense to dodge the electricity as best as he could. Doc Ock tampered with his vest. Attempted to up the voltage capacity – something Peter told him wasn’t possible. Peter wouldn’t do it for them.

So Octavius did it himself.

But the coils are overloaded.

Electro can’t regulate.

He could become a bomb in a moment’s notice.

Peter landed on his feet. He shot a web to a car, swinging it into Electro, throwing him back into a building.

“You can’t think of anything better to say?” Peter said. He webbed another car, throwing it toward Electro. “That’s shocking.”

“Do you ever stop to hear yourself talk?” Electro sent bolts toward the second car, destroying it before it could come close to him. He shot more electricity at Peter, barely missing him and hitting the chain-linked fence behind him.

Peter glanced at the fence. It was only a matter of time before Electro finds his excess power and takes him – and all of Bronx – out.

God knows how long it would take for Electro to break the Shocker out of the prison.

Distracting him could be his best option – long enough to disable his vest. Peter was always one step ahead of the enemies, two steps ahead of his allies.

“Oh I hear myself talk,” Peter said, jumping over the now-electrical fence. “I talk  _just_  so I can hear myself. Is that a problem?”

“Lately, you’ve been the source of all my problems.” Electro rose from the ruble of the destroyed wall, flying over to Peter. He extending his hand over the fence, pulling the electricity back into him. Peter watched as sparks flew from his coils. “Destroying you would solve a lot of them, but –“

“But you’re under strict orders not to,” Peter suggested. “The best part about quitting my job, Max, means I’m not!”

Peter grabbed a large crate, throwing it. A quick bolt of electricity destroyed it – turning its content into ashes.

“Strict orders not to kill you,” Electro clarified. He charged his hands, quickly sweeping them over nearby light poles pulling their energy. “But really  _destroying_  you –  _breaking_  you – that was not specified.”

Electro shot out shockwaves toward Peter. Peter quickly jumped, dodging the bolts and webbed the first object in sight, throwing the left toward Electro.

Electro swept his hand, pulling the electricity from the lift and pushing it away from him, into the fence, all before it came within ten feet of him. His vest started to glow.

“You break me, you buy me,” Peter said. “I’m expensive, just FYI. I have college bills to pay. Our buddy Otto didn’t help too much with that.”

“Like those banks didn’t help you,” Electro said, extending his palm toward Peter. Peter leaned forward, putting pressure on the balls of his feet, ready to move once Electro shot bolts of electricity at him. But he didn’t. His palm glowed with power – yet he didn’t release anything. A buzzing sensation pulled at the back of his head.

_Spider-sense_.

Peter jumped, shot out a webline to pull himself away from danger. A broken powerline snagged around his ankle slamming him back down to the ground.

“You really think you can hide from us,” Electro said, controlling the powerline as it snaked up Peter’s leg. “Hiding in plain sight with that hot head won’t get you anywhere.”

Peter clenched his jaw at the mention of Johnny.

Electro smirked.

“Does that bother you, Spider?” He clenched his hand. The powerline tightened, the exposed end dug into Peter’s thigh. Peter threw his head back, gasping as electricity flew through his body. “What will happen when he realizes who you truly are, Spider?”

The powerline drug down Peter’s thigh, cutting his suit. The end settled, digging into his knee. Peter gritted his teeth – keeping from yelling and giving into Electro’s taunts.

“When he finds out all the bad you’ve done, all the people you’ve hurt. Of those you killed,” Electro said. “What are you doing to do when he finds out you’re the Spider Tracer Murderer?” 

“F-f-fuck o-off,” Peter spat. He webbed a crate, throwing it.

The crate hit Electro, knocking him back. He let go of the powerline, the tight wrap around Peter’s leg now limp and lifeless. Peter pulled his leg away, quickly turning to grab more crates. He threw anything he could at Electro as fast as he could, trying to not give Electro any breathing room.

“Am I that important to you that your best plan is to frame me?” Peter webbed Electro’s ankles together, pulling him down. He slammed him into the ground before swinging him into the wall. He let go, letting Electro break through the wall and into the building. He shot lines at the broken wall, pulling himself into the building and kicking Electro. “Whose bright idea was it to send a message through serial murders and bad news coverage?”

Peter brought his fist across Electro’s face.

“Haven’t you guys ever heard of an email?”

He brought his fist down again.

“Or a phone call?”

And again.

“Or even a text message?”

And again.

“Everybody texts now. Send me a god damn emoji, Max.”

Peter reached down, grabbing loose wires from the front of Electro’s vest. He pulled them, instantly causing Electro to jolt. His regulation vest shut down – well, Electro shut down. The pulled wires redirected all of his electricity against him. Peter wasn’t going to arm other villains with technology without a creating a failsafe.

He couldn’t let others be stronger than him.

“I know you can hear me,” Peter gritted. He grabbed Electro by the vest, jerking him up. “If you dare touch a fucking single blonde hair on his head, I will fucking murder you, Dillon.”

“Y-you thi-think he’s still gon-na trust you aft-ter to-today?” Electro stumbled out, his smirk unfaltered.

“After beating you?” Peter scoffed.

“No, the o-other th-thing,” Electro grinned.

“What other thing?” Peter wrinkled his brow.

“You be-better check the n-news,” Electro said. He knew something Peter didn’t know. Peter didn’t like that. Not one bit.

Peter slammed Electro back into the ground, getting up and swinging away. Someone will find him – hopefully the police if someone called in their disturbance.

But it wasn’t until Peter got home when he found out what Electro was referring to.

The Vulture was dead.

Killed by the Spider Tracer Murderer.

And Peter had 17 missed calls and 5 voicemails from Johnny.

* * *

Johnny was about to go out again. He didn’t care where he was going, he just needed out. He was tired of Ben picking and prodding him. He wanted the name of the mystery man. He wanted a reason for why Johnny was reluctant to give out his name. He wanted to know how the flowers got inside when he never entered the building.

“Reed has the elevator secured to our floors,” Ben called out to Johnny as he walked by. He threw his hands comedically upward, the television blaring in the background. “It’s not like your guy could’a came in through the window.”

“You’re reaching, Ben,” Johnny snapped. “Just drop it.”

“I will,” Ben said, raising his voice to match Johnny’s tone. “When I met the guy.”

“With how you’re acting, you’re not going to meet him. Ever,” Johnny said.

“Meet who?” Sue said, coming from the hallway from putting Franklin down for his nap. She reached over Ben to grab the remote to turn the volume down on the TV.

“No one,” Johnny said, rubbing his eyes as he was instantly filled with exhaustion. He started to walk down the hall. “I’m heading out.”

“Johnny –“

“No,” Johnny said, stopping in his tracks and turning around. “Nobody needs to know his name right now. How come I don’t get to keep one secret?”

“Because I know what you’re secrets are like,” Sue said.

“And if  _you’re_  keepin’ one from Suzie,” Ben said. “Then it’s gotta be good.”

“I’m not keeping a secret,” Johnny said, glancing at the screen behind Ben. Reed had always joked about the 24-hour news channels; that they were both a vice and a virtue. They kept the public informed but when they had nothing to share, their news turned into fear-mongering topics. Johnny never understood what Reed meant. That they had covered interesting topics – topics that the public needed to know for their safety.

That is, until he saw a picture of the Vulture with the headline below reading:  _VULTURE FOUND DEAD, ACTIVE SPIDER TRACER FOUND ON BODY._

Johnny’s gut sank.

He couldn’t help but think of Peter’s words to him at the park last night.

_‘Because if I’m good and someone hurts you, there’s no turning back from what I would do to them.’_

Did that include the Vulture from their last encounter?

Johnny wasn’t sure if he could deal with the guilt of someone dying because him – even if it was the Vulture.

“I’m going,” He said, a lot softer and weaker than he meant. He turned and left the room. He couldn’t be here anymore. He couldn’t listen to Ben any longer, trying to get Peter’s name out of him. He kept Sue in the dark – completely avoiding the fact that there even was a Mystery Man until she walked in and overheard. Now she’s going to know he was lying about Wyatt and he wouldn’t hear the end of it. Either way, it wasn’t going to matter. He wouldn’t be able to hear them over the television, discussing the death of the Vulture and the aching truth that Johnny didn’t want to admit: that the Spider-Man was the killer.

Johnny needed to talk to Peter.

And clearly his 8th call wasn’t helping.

Johnny tried his apartment – knocking at the front door waiting for an answer.

Then he tried at the balcony, knocking at the window, waiting impatiently with his phone glued to his ear.

“Come on, Peter,” Johnny mumbled, hearing the voicemail prompt come up again. “I just need an answer, damn it.”

He hung up the call, instantly remembering Peter said he was going to have brunch at his aunt’s.

But then what?

It’s not like Johnny was going to hunt down Peter’s aunt’s address. He didn’t even have her name.

Johnny flamed on, leaping off of Peter’s roof. He needed time to calm down. He was being irrational. Right? But Johnny knows the longer he goes without addressing it, the longer it brews inside of him.

That’s why when he saw the shadow move – he followed.

He never called out to it.

He assumed that the shadow could hear his flames shortly behind him …  _if_  the shadow was anything more than a shadow.

When it finally disappeared, Johnny didn’t recognize the part of New York he was in. He thought it was a lost cause – a waste of time.

Until a door slammed.

He landed in the alleyway and glanced around, finding the nearest metal door and tugged slightly. God he hoped it was a business. He couldn’t have a breaking and entering charge on him. It would be in the news before he’s even properly booked.

The heavy door gave easily. Johnny hesitated. He had no proof that the shadow was Peter – that the shadow even came into this building.

Yet, he still went in. Door slamming behind him. Johnny swore under his breath, hoping he didn’t bring attention to himself as he slowly entered, trying to find some sort of hint of where the shadow could have gone to.

The further he walked, the more he realized he was in a supply closet. He used his palm to light the way in front of him until he found a door. He opened it slowly, stepping into the hall when he realized he was clear.

A gasp of pain pulled him to the left. He stood at the doorway, peeking in as best as he could while attempting to stay silent.

“I know you’re there,” Peter said, his voice raw. “I don’t want to talk.”

“Okay,” Johnny said. He shifted his weight back and forth, trying to decide whether Peter was inviting him to stay or telling him to leave. Johnny huffed, stepping into the room. “No, okay. Just  _listen_.”

“Johnny –“

Johnny wasn’t expecting to see Peter pants-less.

Furthermore, Johnny wasn’t expecting to see Peter with his leg propped up on a bucket, standing over the mop drain with a Styrofoam cup in his hand.

“I –“ The more he looked at Peter, he wasn’t sure what to question. Peter’s hair was a mess, sticking up in every direction. His shirt was much more wrinkled than it was this morning when Peter had put it on. The tag stuck out awkwardly against his Adam’s apple. His jeans stuck out from the top of his bag, clearly on top of something that was shoved below it. Johnny was surprised that Peter wore his briefs under the suit – or had enough time to put them on.

“I don’t want to listen,” Peter repeated, grimacing as he slowly poured the water from the cup down his leg. Johnny followed the trail of water down his leg, following the second degree electrical burn that flowed down his thigh to his knee. “I know what you’re going to say –“

“Let me help,” Johnny said stepping toward Peter, palm extended toward his thigh, stopping inches from it.

“I – That’s not what I was expecting,” Peter said. He looked at Johnny’s palm before exhaling softly. “Sure. Fine. You’re the burn expert. Just don’t burn my leg.”

Peter extended the Styrofoam cup toward Johnny. Johnny moved his hand, placing it on Peter’s exposed skin. His palm softly glowed, absorbing the heat from Peter’s leg. Peter sighed with relief, resting his head against Johnny’s shoulder.

“Fine. Lecture me. Say whatever you need to say,” Peter said in a soft huff. “Just don’t move you hand. Tell me how you don’t want me to fight for you. That you’re not my damsel in distress.”

“That’s … exactly what I wanted to say,” Johnny said. “I can fight my own fights.”

“I know you can, Hot Stuff,” Peter said. “But you didn’t hear what he said –  _I did._ ”

Johnny remembered.

The moment when Peter’s infuriated look at the Vulture turned apologetic to Johnny, only moments before he dropped him. Peter refused to tell Johnny what the Vulture had said.

“That doesn’t give you the right to hurt him like that,” Johnny raised his voice.

“Johnny,” Peter warned.

“Don’t ‘ _Johnny’_  me,” Johnny snapped. “You’re sounding like my sister. God. I should’ve listened to her.”

“That I’m dangerous?” Peter lifted his head off of Johnny’s shoulder, matching his tone. “That I’m bad and shouldn’t be trusted? Who’s fucking protecting you from the Sinister Five?”

“You can’t be serious,” Johnny was furious. He’s always dreamed of a protector – a knight in shining armor – but not a murderer for a lover. “Killing isn’t protecting. Literally  _half_  of what I do is protecting the city. I know what protecting is.”

“I didn’t kill the Vulture,” Peter gritted through his teeth. “It’s a set-up.”

“By who?”

“The Sinister Five,” Peter said.

Johnny pressed his lips together, unsure if he truly believed Peter. It didn’t make sense. The Sinister Five killing the Vulture. “What happened here?”

“I stopped Electro. Granted, he got to me first,” Peter said, gesturing to his leg. He gave a sly smile to Johnny. “But you know what? Three down, two more to go.”

“You’re not killing them,” Johnny said.

“You  _didn’t_  hear what he said,” Peter repeated. “What he  _sent_  me. Johnny, they know about us. I can’t let them just walk around with that knowledge.”

“So are you going to kill everyone that sees us?” Johnny raised his voice again. “You can’t be that stupid, Peter!”

“I – “ Peter’s rough tone turned panicked. “Shit – Johnny – Ow!”

He smacked Johnny’s hand away from his thigh. Somewhere along their argument, Johnny accidentally gripped his thigh, sending heat back at Peter. The chemical burn looked better – softer in color – but looked healthy compared to the now red hand print above it.

“Peter, I –“

“What’s going on?”

Both men turned to the doorway, both surprised at the angry woman in front of them.

“Aunt May! I – “ Peter started, unsure where he was going. “I didn’t know you were coming in today. You didn’t mention it earlier.”

God. It was Johnny’s luck that he chased Peter into the homeless shelter where his aunt worked.

“Eleanor called in sick again,” She said walking into the room. She was a small-framed woman, but that didn’t mean Johnny wasn’t scared of the way she looked at him with discernment. He took a step back from Peter and toward the wall when she pointed a finger at him. “ _You_  need to leave.”

“Aunt May, we were just talking –“

“I heard you two  _talking_ ,” Aunt May said to Peter without breaking eye contact with Johnny. “I thought I was going to have to call the police.”

“Aunt May –“

“Get out,” She ordered. “Before I call the cops for physical assault.”

“He didn’t assault me –“

“The mark on your leg says differently,” Aunt May snapped. “Leave!”

Johnny tried to figure out whether it was appropriate to tell Peter that he’d call him later, or that they still needed to finish their conversation. But he dropped it and left. God. He was more scared of Peter’s aunt than he was of him.

“May –“

“Peter don’t interrupt me,” Aunt May said. “Gracious! I cannot believe the nerve on that – that –  _that_  Hot Head! Thinking he could come in here and hurt you in a place of giving.” She huffed, crossing her arms. “Who does he think he is?”

“My boyfriend,” Peter said, almost deadpanned. There goes any proper way of introducing May to Johnny.

“Not with his attitude,” May said. “I think we have Polysporin in the first aid kit. Thank goodness your leg doesn’t look any worse than a first degree burn.”

“Yeah,” Peter said softly, his glance going from where the wire had dug into his leg, tearing up his skin causing blisters up and down his thigh – now resembling a bad sunburn he once received at Coney Island. Between his healing ability and Johnny’s ability to absorb heat, Peter would be fine by the end of the weekend. “I promise you, he’s nice.”

“You know who’s nice?” Aunt May said reaching for the first aid kit on the first shelf. She handed it to Peter. “That Flash Thompson. Have you tried calling him?”

“I’m not going to date a boy scout.”

“He’s an Eagle Scout,” Aunt May said. “That’s an honor.”

“I’ll pass,” Peter said, taking the ointment out of the kit. He set the kit aside and started to apply the ointment, knowing it’s more for show than anything. “May, I promise you, Johnny is a nice guy. He’s just having a … tough afternoon.”

“A tough afternoon does not mean he can take it out on you,” Aunt May said, finding gauze pads in the kit to hand to Peter. “I see many domestic violence victims come through our doors because they didn’t have the proper support system and I’m not going to let you follow their paths.”

“Aunt May, I –“

“A lot of victims blame themselves,” Aunt May said, leaning against the table next to Peter. “Or they blame their abuser’s stress levels at work or the subway was late –“

“May –“

“Or they had a tough afternoon,” Aunt May finished. “It may have been the first time – or the only time – but Peter, one time is too many.”

“Thanks Aunt May,” Peter sighed, knowing there was no convincing her. At least he knew everyone at F.E.A.S.T. were in good hands. He taped the gauze pad against his leg. “Thank you for everything.”

* * *

“You’re useless, Max.”

His glance followed the sound of the voice.

“Broken.”

There wasn’t much more Electro could do. After Spider-Man left, he yelled for help before the shockwaves hurt too much. He’s been waiting for the police. They wouldn’t be much help, but maybe they could accidentally disable the failsafe. He waited, heard the sirens in the distance, only for them to grow close then disappear.

“Failure. You had one task.  _One!_ ”

He was to break the Shocker free. And he got too cocky. The Vulture had mentioned seeing the Spider-Man and the Human Torch together – an unconventional duo. He wouldn’t have thought nothing of it … if he had found the Spider-Man’s fist in the hero’s face. The Vulture got the upper hand and teased Peter – an empty threat against the Human Torch, Adrian had said. And he got the Spider-Man compliant, at least, for a moment.

Electro only wanted to do the same.

“I should let you die here,” Otto Octavius said, stepping forward. In his hand, he played with a small spider-like piece of technology.

Electro pressed his lips together. He didn’t have much of a choice. He couldn’t fight. His vocal cords too weak to raise his voice. Eventually, his nerves will turn numb and maybe he would experience peace.

“You did prove my theory,” Octavius said, tossing the spider tracer from his hand to a metal arm, inspecting it. “You might have proven yourself useful after all. I just have one more, small task for you.”

* * *

Johnny needed a break.

He needed a break from his family, bombarding him with questions about the guy who is definitely not Wyatt.

He needed a break from his phone, constantly lighting up with news alerts about the death of the Vulture.

He needed a break from himself, and his thoughts that ache him.

He only wished that his room provided that sort of break.

Was it a bad idea to confront Peter about the Vulture? Was it wrong for him to assume that he could’ve been involved after the way he talked about protecting Johnny?

What if he’s made a mistake?

He trusted Peter. Trusted a supervillain. Trusted the man with his heart.

He wanted to go back from the beginning and start over. To never have left the Baxter Building that day. To only carry the handful of bills he needed. To not get a hotdog from that hotdog stand. To never meet the Spider-Man. To never know what his laugh sounded like or how gentle his calloused hands were.

To never know who Peter Parker was.

Johnny sighed, burying his face into his pillow, knowing that even if he had the chance to go back in time, he’d still do it all over again.

He’d still bring Peter back home. He’d still take care of his cuts. He’d still kiss him back. He’d still try to make everything work despite every bit inside of him said he shouldn’t.

A soft knock tried to pull him away from the pillow. He groaned.

“Go away.” He mumbled.

A full moment passed before he heard the knock again. He groaned louder lifting his head.

“Sue, I said –“

A quick glance up was all it took. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw an unusual shadow in the window.

He wanted to lay back down, ignoring Peter until he goes away.

He needed a break, he told himself.

He needed to ignore him.

But he couldn’t stop himself from climbing out of bed and toward Peter. He unlocked the window, stepping back. Peter stepped in hesitantly.

And all he did was look at Johnny in silence. In the last few weeks that Johnny knew Peter, he’s never known him to be this quiet. Peter was even loud in his sleep, snoring until Johnny used him to lull himself back to sleep.

When Johnny finally came to terms that he should say something, Peter spoke up.

“I’m sorry.”

“What?”

Peter pulled his mask off. “I’m sorry,” He repeated. “For everything – for setting you off, for snapping at you, … for my aunt.”

“She seems nice.”

“I promise you, she is,” Peter said, stepping closer to Johnny. He put his hands lightly on Johnny’s hips, guiding him close. “I’m sorry about her.”

“She reminds me of you,” Johnny said, finding comfort in his arms. “She came at my throat for hurting you.”

“She’s now suggesting that I dump my abusive boyfriend and date the Eagle Scout from high school,” Peter said, pressing a kiss against Johnny’s neck. “But what can you say? I got a thing for bad boys.”

Johnny laughed. “Okay, one? That’s a joke coming from your mouth. Two? You can’t joke about domestic abuse like that.”

“I know, I know,” Peter said, pressing a few more kisses up Johnny’s neck. He stopped when he reached his jaw, gently taking Johnny’s chin in his hand and guiding him to his lips. “Now  _you_  sound like her.”

Johnny laughed again. Peter smiled, taking a step forward. Johnny smiled, taking a step back, keeping Peter close. It wasn’t much longer until their lips met again, guiding the two several steps away from the window and to the bed.

Johnny told himself he needed a break.

A break from Peter.

A moment to himself.

But all thoughts of rationality went out of his head when Peter lifted off his shirt. When he ran his hands up Johnny’s chest. When Peter looked down at him in awe. When Peter spoke, his voice soft and quiet. When his words hit his ears, “You’re beautiful.”

When Peter’s mouth found its place against Johnny’s throat. Johnny threw his head back into the pillows, his fingers curled in Peter’s locks.

Johnny wished he took in the moment, ignored the buzzing of his phone for once.

Take the break like he said he was going to.

A quick glance turned into a longer one, trying to make out the headline before the phone locked.

He only caught a few words, but enough that he knew what was going on.

_DEVELOPING: Electro … found … spider tracer_

Johnny needed to push Peter off. He needed to address the issue. It was too coincidental to not be Peter. It didn’t make sense for his death to be by anybody but Peter. But Johnny didn’t speak up, because he knew what would happen if he did.

Peter would yell. Johnny would too. Peter would argue. Johnny would argue back. It wouldn’t end pretty. There’s only so much they could handle in one day before Peter pulls his mask back on and swings out of Johnny’s life. And there was only so much yelling that could happen before Johnny’s family realizes he’s not alone.

Johnny turned his head away from the phone, gripping harder into Peter’s hair. He closed his eyes and focused on the soft of Peter’s lips.

If this was going to be their last time together, Johnny wanted it to be passionate. He wanted Peter to press loving words into his skin. Calling him beautiful and gorgeous, meaning every syllable. He wanted to feel loved by him, one last time.

* * *

Stepping back into the lab was bittersweet.

Peter loved his job. He loved working in his field. He enjoyed the time he spent with Otto Octavius.

Until Octavius kept turning every small projects into something they could use outside the lab, something to make him a stronger villain. At first, the project was the arms. An Empire State funded project that focused on neuro-robotics and prosthetics. Then it turned into a personal project. The experiment went wrong and he and the arms became one. Peter swore it was to Octavius’ delight.

Octavius continued to work on the arms before confiding in Peter.

“Let’s get our revenge against those who have done us wrong.”

Octavius didn’t have to say a name for Peter to know who he was talking about.

Oscorp Pharmaceuticals was a front.

Oscorp Pharmaceuticals was the reason Octavius was creating the arms.

Oscorp Pharmaceuticals was the reason for the spider powers.

Norman Osborn was the reason for Gwen Stacy’s death.

And the more villains Octavius gathered, the more Peter realized that they all at Oscorp to blame for their powers.

And they struggled to control them.

But Peter always found a way for them to regulate. To take control their powers. For them to use their powers in revenge against Norman Osborn.

But Octavius kept putting it off, reminding Peter that revenge is a dish best served cold. Peter would disagree.

He liked his revenge fresh, hot, and full of anger.

Peter wanted to take the revenge out on Norman himself.

Octavius wanted it to be wide-spread and loud.

He wanted to expose Oscorp Pharmaceuticals for the fraud it was.

But that didn’t sit too right with Peter.

The group didn’t sit well with him either.

Since Octavius named the group, the Sinister Six, Peter hated it.

He no longer felt like he could focus on himself and his own needs. Everything he did had to be for the group. In the lab, he was working on their suits. Out of the lab, they needed to know his every whereabouts. Any time he robbed someone big, they were shooting questions the next day: Why were they his target? Where was there cut? How did it benefit the group?

Peter needed out.

He stormed out, telling Octavius to shove his arms up his ass and find a new six.

“You take one step out of the lab, Spider, and you will regret it,” Octavius had called. “We will not take your resignation lightly.”

“I’m not giving it lightly,” Peter said. “Go fuck yourselves.”

Peter never wanted to step back in the lab. He never wanted to talk to Octavius again.

But he needed proof.

God. If he was told weeks before that he’d come back to the lab just to prove to a blonde hero that he wasn’t committing murders, he would’ve laughed.

But nothing hurt more than Johnny letting go.

Peter woke up with Johnny lying next to him. Johnny’s pretty blue eyes studied his face, moving from freckle to freckle as if he was mapping his face.

“Good morning, Gorgeous,” Peter reached up, gently running his knuckles across Johnny’s cheek. “You up for something quick before you leave for breakfast with the Brady Bunch?”

Peter leaned in for a kiss, Johnny tilted his head away.

“Something wrong, babe?” Peter asked, gently guiding Johnny back to him.

Johnny sat up. He refused to look at Peter. Refused to let him see his face. Refused to let him see any tears that were forming.

“Johnny?”

“Maybe you should go.”

“What?”

The words had danced around in Johnny’s head for far too long,  _‘I can’t let them just walk around_   _with that knowledge.’_ The knowledge of them together. The Vulture knew. Electro knew. “You didn’t think they would’ve covered Electro’s  _murder_?”

Johnny’s words hit him like a ton of bricks.

Peter wished he thought his actions through.

But he could feel the rage build up inside of him. And when he exploded, he couldn’t stop.

He stormed out of bed, grabbing his suit off the floor and threw it on. His word choice colorful, somewhere between betrayal and furious.

“I’ve already fucking told you,” Peter said one too many times. “I meant every  _fucking_  word I’ve told you.”

Peter almost couldn’t see because of how mad he was. He ran a hand through his hair, griping at the back of his head. He wanted to tear it out. He wanted to break something. He wanted … everything to be alright.

“I fucking trusted you,” Peter said, storming to the other side of the bed. He grabbed Johnny’s hands.

“Hey –!”

Peter put his own hands in Johnny’s. “Johnny you have to trust me! Look at me,” Peter’s tone softened. “Look at me.”

Johnny finally turned to look at Peter. His big, brown eyes were gentle – nothing like what they were moments before. Peter had this soft demeanor, somewhere between innocence and mischievous. Somewhere between trustworthy and deceitful. Johnny’s heart tugged, wanting to trust him. Wanting to give him another chance. Wanting to know if any of this was real. But Johnny knew he couldn’t trust him anymore – there was too much evidence that painted Peter as a serial murderer.

“Johnny.” Peter’s voice hit the middle ground again, somewhere between begging and scowling.

“If you don’t move,” Johnny warned, his voice low. “I will ignite.”

“Johnny,” Peter pleaded, his voice finding a soft tone.

Peter learned quickly that Johnny wasn’t one for empty threats. Despite the buzzing at the back of his head, Peter wanted to keep his hands against Johnny’s palms for as long as he could – to show  _his_  trust. He only pulled away before his hands became fully ablaze.

“Where’s your trust, Johnny?” Peter said, stepping away.

“Peter, I can’t –“

“Don’t call me that!” Peter snapped. He ran his hand through his hair. “And to think I was going to say I loved you. Holy shit.”

“Pete –”

“Forget my name,” Peter said, slipping on the mask. “Forget my face. Clearly we should’ve stuck to fucking.”

“Wait,” Johnny said, reaching out with an extinguished palm. Peter jerked his arm away.

“You been thinking about this for a while now, haven’t you?” Peter asked. Johnny looked up at him, before turning away. Peter’s face may have been unreadable, but he knew his own wasn’t. “I fucking trusted you!”

Peter stormed to the window. He needed to leave.

“I fucking trusted you, and you couldn’t trust me back?” Peter swung his arm, hitting the vase off the dresser. The vase broke with a loud crash, flowers spilling on the floor. “Where’s your fucking trust?”

Sue’s worried voice called from down the hall.

Peter stood at the window, his hand against the frame. Peter hesitated, almost looking like he didn’t want to leave. Not just yet. He looked back at Johnny, locking eyes for a moment before turning his attention back to his hand. “I … I thought we could work this out. Did you … not imagine us lasting?”

Johnny didn’t have time to answer.

Sue opened the door.

The Spider-Man jumped from the window, out of Johnny’s life.

It took too long for it to click in Peter’s mind.

Peter knew he was being targeted.

He knew they were attempting to get everyone in New York to hate him. For the police to target  _him_.

But it never clicked for Peter that they were going to make  _everyone_  in the city hate him. Especially those who matter the most.

So Peter had to prove to Johnny that he wasn’t the Spider Tracer Murderer, whether or not Johnny would come back to him. He just had to show him that it wasn’t him.

Peter glanced around the laboratory. Nothing has changed since he left. He walked around cautiously, waiting to set off a trap. He glanced at the blue prints on the table. New technology that Octavius was developing for his crew. Peter gently pushed the corner down on one of the blue prints. New gloves and gun for the Shocker. Not like Herman needs them on Riker’s.

A soft prickle at the back of his neck alerted him to company. He put his hand flat against the table, hurdling over it to face Octavius.

“Finally coming back to us, Spider?” Octavius grinned.

“You wish,” Peter said. “We need to talk.”

“To talk?” Octavius said with a false tone of surprise. “With the Spider? What a considerable honor.  I don’t know what we would discuss –”

“Save the acting,” Peter said, stepping forward. “You know what I want to talk about. A couple of dead Sinisters with tracers on them.”

“And you think we had something to do with their deaths?” Octavius suggested.

“I know you did,” Peter’s tone raised. It took all of his spider strength to hold back from attacking Doc Ock. “You murdered the DA. DeWolff. The state senator –“

“You can’t admit that you’re not the slightest bit happy that some of your most vocal critics are dead,” Octavius said. “Besides, I can’t take all the credit. I did have some assistance.”

“That’s not the point,” Peter gritted.

“Would you like to pick our next target?” Octavius asked. “We were considering Senator Schumer. He has a bill proposed that may be of your interest –“

“Leave me out of this,” Peter snapped. “I don’t want to be involved. Stop trying to rope me in.”

“In all technicality, we are not trying to ‘rope you in’,” Octavius said. “We are ensuring that we are the only option left for you. Call it insurance, if you will.”

“Fuck off.”

“We need you, Spider,” Octavius said. “There’s only one way we can take back our lives.”

“Destroying Oscorp isn’t the answer.”

“They experimented on us,  _Spider_ ,” Octavius gritted. “Or did that detail slip your feeble mind?”

“So you’re willing to destroy an entire company –“

“Osborn’s  _legacy_  –“

“Thousands will die, Octavius,” Peter snapped. “We’ve discussed this before. Only Osborn deserves to die. That’s all and final.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Octavius said. “No one will die.”

“The cheapest insulin provider is Oscorp,” Peter said, his voice tightened with anger. Octavius claimed he was thinking about the longer run – the bigger picture. But he wasn’t thinking about who he was affecting – or he didn’t care. “Protease inhibitors, methadone, azacitidine. The list goes on. You want me to continue?”

“How soon will it be before Osborn becomes more power hungry?” Octavius said. “Before he becomes greedier? Not too much longer, I presume –“

“Then we take him out,” Peter snapped. “And only him.”

“And let Osborn Junior take his place?” Octavius asked.  “There’s only so many times we can cut off the dragon’s head before we acknowledge the hydra.”

“Leave me out of this,” Peter said, finally stepping back from Octavius. He clenched his fists, keeping himself from reacting physically. He stepped backward again, before waving Octavius away and he turned to walk. “I don’t want those deaths on my conscience. Stop trying to pull me into your little clique, I won’t join. Find someone else to be your muscles and fix your tech.”

“We will always have eyes on you, Spider,” Octavius called after him. His voice was different than just moments before: now calm and low. Peter didn’t have to turn around to imagine his sinister grin. “We’ve known you’ve gone soft. Soft for a certain … hero … haven’t you?”

Peter stopped in his tracks. He could feel his fingernails digging into his palms. “Bite me.”

“Shall I ask again,  _Peter_ ,” Octavius said slyly. “Will you finish what we’ve started, or would you rather watch the Human Torch suffocate?”

Peter hesitated, his mind flashed to Johnny.

Was he in danger? Did they have him captured? No. He was home, safe with his team – his _family_. Out of harm’s way and out of Peter’s life. But that still doesn’t keep him safe if the Sinister Five knew that Peter was in love with him.

Peter turned around slowly. “You don’t … you don’t have him.” He said, more than asked. Peter needed to hear the words, to remind himself that Johnny isn’t held hostage in the back of the lab. “I just saw him. He’s fine –“

“But he will spring into action when he hears you are in trouble. Or am I wrong?”

Peter clenched his jaw.

“I will ask again,” Octavius grinned, knowing he had Peter where he wanted him. “Will you join us?”

* * *

For two weeks, Johnny managed to avoid a conversation about the man jumping out of his window to Sue.

He knew she saw the Spider-Man mask. She heard him yelling.

She saw the tears welled in Johnny’s eyes.

She didn’t question. Johnny knew she wanted to. He hung his head, running the back of his hand across his face. Johnny closed his eyes, hoping that she would leave. That she wouldn’t inquire who the man was or why he jumped or why Johnny didn’t stop him. Maybe she actually didn’t see him. But she still heard him. He felt his bed sink as she sat down beside him. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him in as he tucked his head into her shoulder and let go.

He couldn’t tell her.

He couldn’t imagine where to start.

Would he start from when he first fell in love with the Spider-Man or when he realized he was in too deep?

It wasn’t regret that he felt.

No. He didn’t regret falling in love with Peter Parker.

He would do it over again if he could.

Johnny almost made it into three weeks without discussing that morning with Sue. Almost.

“Okay,” Sue said, letting her book drop on the kitchen island to grab Johnny’s attention. “We need to talk.”

“I don’t like it when you suggest we need to talk,” Johnny said, pushing her book back toward her. “It usually means I’m in trouble or that I need to stop teaching Franklin to prank Ben.”

“You need to stop teaching Franklin pranks,” Sue said sternly. “But that’s not what I want to talk about.”

“What else am I in trouble for?” Johnny asked. “There’s not much that I’ve really done to get into trouble –“

“That’s the point,” Sue said.

“That I haven’t done anything to get into trouble?” Johnny asked, eyebrow raised. “Sue we need to talk about what qualifies as –“

“You haven’t  _done_  anything,” Sue said. “You haven’t been yourself lately. You barely talk to any of us. If it wasn’t for Franklin, I would’ve thought you’ve gone mute. You’ve been in a funk lately, and we  _both_  know why.”

“Sue, I don’t want to talk about this,” Johnny said.

“Great,” Sue said, pulling up a chair to sit next to Johnny. “Because I do.”

“Sue –“

“You have too big of a heart to let someone jump out your window,” She said. “Not without knowing that they would be safe.”

“Sue –“

“Ben told me he didn’t see Wyatt that night,” Sue said. “And he didn’t see your mystery man or the flowers until I brought it up the next morning.”

“Maybe I brought them in when he wasn’t looking,” Johnny suggested, knowing he had no reason to lie. Not anymore.

“Reed’s security alert went off,” Sue said. “Ben told him that you said the window must have blown open.”

“And you made the connections,” Johnny said. “Someone breaking into Johnny’s room – must be his new boyfriend.”

“I didn’t –“ She stopped as soon as his words hit him. “ _Boyfriend._ ”

Johnny nodded.

“Johnny –“

“I don’t need a lecture.”

“No, but you need a sister,” Sue said. “Okay, so you and your secret supervillain boyfriend had a fight. You broke up. Tell me what happened.”

“It’s a long story,” Johnny sighed. He knew she wasn’t going to let go. He just expected this sooner.

“Then tell me,” She said. “Tell me about him.”

“He’s not –“ Johnny stopped short of saying that Sue couldn’t just boil him down to a supervillain. Peter’s much more than that … but Peter also made it very clear to him that he wasn’t anything more than a villain. “He’s really sweet. Funny. He’s kind and stubborn. ”

“I heard him being  _stubborn_ ,” Sue said. “I think everyone heard him being stubborn.”

“You didn’t see his heart break,” Johnny said softly.

“You clearly didn’t see your vase break,” Sue said. “Johnny, you did the right thing. You know what he’s done. He’s still doing it –“

“He’s says it’s not him,” Johnny said. “That he’s being framed by other villains.”

“Do you believe him?”

“I … don’t know what to believe anymore,” Johnny said. He believed him at first. Peter swore he was being framed. But it was a little harder to believe him when the very people he claimed were framing him were now victims of the murders.

“ _I believe_  you did the right thing,” Sue said, brushing his hair away from his face. “You don’t need someone like him in your life.”

“That’s easy to say,” Johnny said, standing up. He wanted to walk away. Leaving at that. But he knew why his heart still ached. Why letting go wasn’t as easy as Sue was leading it to be. He gripped the back of the chair, rocking back and forth on his heels. His eyes glued to the white of his knuckles. “He asked me, before he left, if I thought we would last …”

He looked up at Sue, her blue eyes watched him as he searched for his words. Her concerned and stern expression turned tenderhearted. As if she knew what he was already going to say, before the words had formed on his tongue. That she felt sympathetic for him – or maybe she felt empathy. Maybe she’s had similar feelings, and that’s why she stood up to pull Johnny into a hug. Or maybe it was the tears that were welling back up in his eyes.

“I think that’s what really got to me, Sue,” Johnny said, letting go of the chair and letting himself be embraced by Sue’s comfort. “I really did – I really thought we would last.”

* * *

Peter was almost embarrassed by how quickly he moved up the ranks at his new job.

But it helped that he knew the CEO’s son.

And it helped Peter’s nerves that his aunt was proud of him.

“I told you that you would find a better job,” Aunt May had said over wheatcakes one Saturday morning. “I just wish you would still quit that Bugle job. It’s not worth it.”

“I gotta keep my Saturdays busy,” Peter gave a soft smile. “I don’t think I’d be the same person without that small paycheck.”

Aunt May softly scoffed. She reached over and softly squeezed Peter’s hand. “And just like your new job, you will find a new guy.”

“Aunt May –“

“Or gal,” She smiled, squeezing his hand again. “Whichever one you find. You’ll find a better one.”

“Thanks Aunt May,” Peter said, more for show than anything. It’s been weeks since he last saw Johnny and his heart still hurt.

But he’s got bigger things to worry about.

Like his big project due on Monday.

He’s almost behind schedule.

Peter has been working too hard, gathering all of the information he’s needing, researching as much as he could. He couldn’t have anything mess up his project.

He glanced around his workspace before he found the tool he needed on the other side of the table. He gestured at it, attempting to get the other lab assistant’s attention. Oscorp Pharmaceuticals claimed to hire the best of the best, but clearly underestimated how well they focused on their projects. It took forever for Peter to get someone’s attention on the first day, let alone weeks into working at Oscorp.

“Hey, can you pass me that Allen –“

Shivers went up Peter’s back. He could feel it coming – the blast gathering energy moments before the wall came crumbling down.

Peter and his coworkers landed on the ground amongst the rubble. They looked up to a sinister grin and that familiar, horrendous yellow jacket.

Peter was always known to be a fighter, masked or not. He got off the ground and charged at the masked man. Take him low. He wouldn’t know what hit him –

The masked man jerked his elbow into Peter’s face, bringing him down to the ground with a groan. The man grabbed his arm, yanking him back up on his feet.

“You fuck,” Peter muttered, putting the heel of his palm against his nose, checking to see if he was bleeding.

“A token example of what happens to heroes,” He yelled for the lab to hear. He angled his sonic gun toward Peter’s head. “Nobody move! I need absolute –“

“Run!” Peter yelled, attempting to jerk out of the man’s grip. There were about 50 people in the lab, at least one of them had to be brave. “Call for help! Get out of –“

“Enough!” The man raised his gun to the ceiling and shot, creating a hole. Screams filled the air as rubble fell around Peter and the man. “Do not call for help. Stay put while we –“ He took a step backwards, jerking Peter with him. “ _We_  have better plans. Call it …  _insurance_ , if you will.”

The man walked Peter to the elevator, Peter attempting to lean out of his grip to look back at his coworkers, begging them to call for help. As soon as the elevator doors open with a ding, the man threw Peter against the wall. The man stepped in and pressed the floor number.

Once the door shut, Peter sat up, brushing the dirt off his shoulder.

“Nice to see you again, Herman,” Peter spat. “How was Riker’s?”

“Fuck off, Spider,” The Shocker said.

“I missed you, too, bud,” Peter said, standing up. “Next time, how about I do the throwing and you play the damsel in distress?”

“How about you play your part,” the Shocker said, grabbing Peter’s arm again as the elevator dinged. The door’s slowly opened and the Shocker lifted his gun, leading Peter through the lab, pulling him past several scared researchers and lab assistants.

Peter put on a show.

“Please, help!” He called, as he half-fought the Shocker’s grip. “Please! Somebody!”

“Hush!” The Shocker said, jolting Peter. He tightened his grip around his arm, as if he could really hold back Peter.

“Let me go!”

The Shocker extended his arm, aiming the gun back at the elevator. He pulled the trigger. Sonic waves destroyed the elevator, taking down part of the ceiling above. More screams filled the air as the workers tried to find safety from the debris.

The Shocker aimed the gun back at Peter, pulling him down the hall and past scared faces. Peter acted terrified, but as soon as the Shocker pulled him into the back office – where the rest of the Sinister Six were waiting – Peter jerked out of the Shocker’s grip with ease.

Peter brushed off his sleeve with the back of his hand as if he was brushing off the pathetic, helpless feeling off of him. He stepped forward to Doc Ock and to the desk in the back of the office.

“How long do we have?” Peter asked, pulling out the leather chair and sitting down. The leather felt way too expensive for how little time Osborn probably spent in the office, always out of the country on business trips. Less security that way.

“Ten minutes before the police arrive,” Doc Ock said, nodding towards the Vulture. The Vulture nodded back, stepping toward the balcony window. “But Vulture can buy you another fifteen.”

“Make it twenty,” Peter said, typing in the username and password – not his own, but of the young lead researcher on the genetics team two floors above Peter’s lab. It took some light, fake flirting to actually get the password, but Peter’s done worse.

“You got fifteen,” The Vulture said, his stubborn glare told Peter what he already knew. Peter was unwelcomed. The Vulture, the Shocker, Electro and the Hobgoblin all didn’t want him back. He became second-in-command against his will – against all of their advice – and yet, Octavius persisted. Peter made it very clear – he was just here for this heist and this heist only. If he helped the Sinister Five expose Oscorp, they would leave him alone. The others claimed he was going to sabotage their plans. That he would flee at any given moment, letting the others take the fall. And here he was, in the center of their plan – unmasked and with an alias and an alibi.

The Vulture stepped out into the balcony and expanded his wings. He took flight, surveilling the building to keep law enforcement out.

“I’ll need twenty,” Peter repeated. “I’m downloading almost a terabyte in data, does he really think I can get it done in –“

“You can if you stop talking,” The Hobgoblin snapped. “Get to work, Spider.”

“That’s all I am to you guys,” Peter said, eyes glued to the computer screen as he worked his way past security codes and through proxy servers. Luckily, the researcher he flirted with to get the password had the right clearance for what the Sinister Five wanted. “Get us the password, Spider. Get us past the firewalls and clearances, Spider. Get –“

“-- To work, Spider-Man,” Doc Ock finished.

“See?” Peter said, lifting one hand off the keyboard to gesture to Octavius. “How hard was that? I deserve respect.”

“For shoving your tongue down a researcher’s throat for his password?” The Hobgoblin sneered.

“Tons of respect,” The Shocker laughed.

“I didn’t do that,” Peter hissed.

“Right,” Electro said. “Just like you didn’t do it with the Human –“

“Drop it,” Peter snapped. “Or I’ll drop –“

“You won’t,” Doc Ock said. “You won’t do anything wrong if you remember our deal.”

Peter clenched his jaw and went back to work. Peter needed to complete the job. He was here as a hostage – as Kyler Thomas the prestige researcher as his name badge read – and that was it. It was a fake hostage situation, using Peter’s fake identity to sneak past the security systems and letting Peter leave unscathed. The Sinister Five would take all the glory, finally leaving Peter alone.

Peter and Octavius both knew it meant more than just Peter’s safety. And Peter knew it wouldn’t be hard for the others to figure it out –  _if_  they all used their four brain cells.

“Okay,” Peter finally huffed. “Are they going to watch the entire time? I usually charge extra for that.”

There was a long pause before Doc Ock grunted, “Electro, pay our friends in security a visit. Shocker, the stairwell.”

The two bit their tongues to grip back, doing as they were told. It was all part of the plan, to keep interruptions as little as possible. They just hated how the orders come from Peter first. The Hobgoblin stood guard in the room, keeping the main door to the office closed. Peter attempted to fight back a smirk, picking up the small communication device from the table and putting it in his ear.

Octavius walked over to the laptops lined along the side of the room – all stolen from the research department ten minutes before. Each laptop had a jump drive inserted, linking the computers together and protecting them against Oscorp from retaking the technology back.

The first laptop was livestreaming the news coverage of the attack. Almost narcissistic, Peter thought. Security video was leaked to the public of the break-in. Images from screenshots identified each member of the Sinister Five. The video pulls back as the news anchor continues to cover the story and a new image pops up on the screen. One of the lab assistants had took a picture of the Shocker with Peter, gun to his head as he walked through the laboratory. The name Kyler Thomas popped up on the bottom of the image – misidentifying Peter as the researcher whose credentials were used to log into the computer.

The second computer was used to keep Oscorp from finding ways to hack back into their system. Octavius had developed a program that acted like a virus, destroying the intruding user as soon as it tried to gain remote access to any of the computers. Osborn surely had a team of computer geniuses who were attempting to regain control of their computers, but Octavius has been working far too hard and far too long for someone to rehack the computers to ruin their plans.

The third computer was used to reroute the data that Peter was downloading. Once Peter identified the files that exposed Oscorp for their experimentations, they were to be sent to the media through a protected IP address. The sooner they sent the files to the media, the more likely they would broadcast the videos and images without screening them first.

Throughout the chaos, Oscorp would be exposed and torn down.

A small beep alerted the Sinisters that someone was attempting communication. Peter pressed a finger against the small communication piece. Static flooded into his ear. Peter could barely hear the Vulture over the sound of wind.

“Ock, we got a hot problem.”

“Then handle it,” Octavius said.

“I need back-up,” the Vulture said in between static. “Fast.”

“Hobgoblin,” Octavius snapped. “Outside. Stat.”

The Hobgoblin nodded. Quickly, he took the glider off his back and jumped off the balcony, taking patrol of the tower.

“Work faster,” Octavius demanded, turning to the first computer and switching screens from the livestreams to access to the security feeds, flipping between camera to camera to search for the Vulture’s problem.

“The computers can only go so fast –“

“Faster,” Octavius repeated. He touched his hand to his ear, activating the communication piece. “Electro, engage the automatic locks. We need all points of entrance secured.”

Electro’s vibrating voice came through the com, “Securing.”

“I thought Vulture could handle the police,” Peter mocked, working to separate files that needed to be handed to the media as soon as possible and the files that Octavius wanted for his own experimentation – to work on Osborn’s errors to make himself stronger.

“I’m sure you’re familiar with the response time of the police force,” Octavius said, still searching through the security footage. “I believe we’re dealing with something much more than New York’s finest.”

Peter was moments away from making a joke against the NYPD when he realized something was wrong. There was a few seconds of a warning, his spider-sense blared on red alert. Peter looked up from the screen to Shocker at the stairwell entrance, gun pointed toward him.

“Fuck –“ Peter dived out of the way, barely missing the sonic blast that destroyed the window behind him. Peter covered his head, blocking any flying glass from his face. A blast of a heat wave went over him.

His ears rang and his senses buzzed – on edge as he was sure the Shocker was aiming in his direction again.

But Peter wasn’t sure why his senses didn’t buzz for the firm hand that touched his shoulder.

Peter jerked is shoulder away, expecting to see Octavius when he turned around. Expecting metal claw rushing toward his face. Expecting to have to be quick and on the defense.  He reached upward ready to grab the metal claw, finding his hand curled around Johnny’s slender wrist instead.

Johnny’s mouth moved. Surely there were sounds. Peter couldn’t hear him.

His senses still blared.

Now louder than ever.

Peter grabbed Johnny’s shoulder, pulling him behind the large desk. The shockwaves above them rattled the desk.

“What are you doing here?” Peter said, a little louder than he meant.

Johnny’s lips moved fast. Peter’s ears still weren’t working right. Eventually, Johnny’s words broke through. “— you on the news. Are you okay? Peter?”

“You can’t be here,” Peter said. His grip loosened around his shoulders – his hand hesitant to touch Johnny’s jaw, hovering inches away, before remembering why he can’t be here. Peter moved his hand away from Johnny, quickly touching the webshooters around his wrists to activate them. “You gotta go.”

“Not without you,” Johnny said. “You’re in trouble.”

“Yeah,” Peter snapped. “Now that  _they_  think I told the Fantastic Four about our plans.”

“ _Our_  plans?”

Peter could feel the vibrations begin on the Shocker’s gun.

Peter reached around the desk, streaming a webline to the gun and pulled the muzzle’s aim off center. The shockwaves blasted through the side wall, sending debris in every direction. “Not the space to talk, pretty boy.”

“What do you mean  _our_  plans?” Johnny repeated. “I thought you weren’t –“

“I’m not!” Peter snapped, he shot a few web pellets, hoping to hold back the Shocker. He turned to face Johnny. The worry in Johnny’s eyes had left, leaving only anger in his blue eyes. “I mean – I wasn’t –“

“Did you lie to me?”

“It’s not like that. I –“

The whirring of Octavius’s metal arms cut him off. They grew louder as they expanded. Peter grabbed Johnny’s shoulder, pulling Johnny behind him as a metal claw pulled the desk away, exposing them.

“So, you invited a friend, Spider,” Octavius said. He had fully shifted weight to his metal arms, towering over them. “We’ll welcome him, while your busy working.”

“Do  _not_  touch him,” Peter said – his voice dark, steady and serious. Almost possessive, Johnny noted, for someone who left with the words, ‘forget my face.’ Then again, Johnny was the one who told Peter to leave and then came to his aid as soon as he saw Peter’s face on the 24-hour news. A vice and a virtue.

“You have ten seconds to return to that computer,” Octavius warned. “Leave the hero for us to handle.”

Peter huffed. He pressed his hand against Johnny’s leg, squeezing gently before shifting his body weight to stand up.

“I  _said_ ,” Peter’s spider-senses started to go off as Octavius leaned back on two metal arms, the other two rising for an attack. “Don’t fucking touch him.”

The two claws darted toward Johnny.

Peter shot weblines. He pulled in opposite directions, diverting the arms into the ground.

“Get out of here!” Peter demanded. He glanced quickly at the Shocker, still working to pull the webs off his gun. Peter knew it wouldn’t take much longer if he kept attempting to blast them off.

“Pete –“

“Go!” Peter could fell Octavius regain strength against his webs.

“Let him stay,” Octavius smirked. “Let him learn the consequences of his errors.”

“Fuck off –“ Shivers went down Peter’s back.

He let go of one hand, shooting another pellet in the Shocker’s direction. A shockwave went through the original webbing and destroyed the pellet. Whirring of Octavius’s arm pulled his attention back, barely dodging the arm. He grabbed it, pulling it back with his momentum – catching sight of the breathtaking flames.

Peter could only hope that Johnny grew a common sense and was going to leave.

Peter pulled the arm back, drilling it through the floor in hopes to keep Doc Ock stationary. He webbed the other arm, pulling it back before it could move any closer to Johnny’s flames.

The Shocker aimed his gun toward Johnny, switching the dial on the side. The gun hummed as it powered up.

“Johnny,” Peter warned.

“I know,” Johnny said, taking flight – toward the Shocker.

Oh god, he’s got a death wish.

The Shocker took aim, waiting for the gun to finish building-up energy ready to shoot the Human Torch.

Peter’s senses blared.

“Johnny!”

The gun’s muzzle glowed with vibrations. The Shocker pulled the trigger. The air visibly moved in the Shocker's line of fire. Johnny curved, a half second faster than the shockwave. Johnny shot fire at the Shocker’s gun. The hot pressure of the flames caused the chamber to burst. The Shocker let go of the gun before he was burnt.

Peter smirked – before realizing his senses weren’t just going off for Johnny.

Doc Ock had switched his weight, using his stationary arm as a balance. His free arm grabbed Peter, pulling him away and pulling his grip off of the other arm. He threw Peter up against the wall. Peter gasped, the air knocked out of his lungs as he hit the ground.

Peter felt a warmth rush beside him.

“You need to leave,” Peter breathed, putting his hand against his side, where Octavius had grabbed him, brushing his hand against Johnny’s. He could feel blood seeping through his shirt.

“Not without you,” He said, pulling Peter up.

“This isn’t your –“

“You’re here, Pete,” Johnny said. “And you’re hurt. This is my fight.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Peter could see the Shocker approaching them, running his thumbs across the back of gloves to activate them. God. Peter wished the prison system would actually work for villains.

“Plus after what happened outside,” Johnny said. “I’m pretty sure I’ve made this my fight.”

“Fine,” Peter said, glancing at Octavius who turned his attention to the main computer to continue the download of data. “But we are to leave and that’s it. Goal of the fight.”

“We need to stop –“

“Not a part of the plan,” Peter said. “We got bigger fish to fry –“

“Nice choice of words, Spider,” The Shocker held up his gloves to the two men, his fists balled. Peter grabbed Johnny’s arm, pulling him back to put himself between Johnny and the Shocker. “Any other quick quips you want to say?”

“Yeah,” Peter said. He shot a webline up to a light, bringing it down on the Shocker. The Shocker moved his arms above his head, blocking the light from hitting him. Peter shot a web pellet to web his gloves together. He weblined the Shocker, pulling him in for a punch. “Go to Hell.”

“Meet you there,” The Shocker grunted, shoving his elbow into Peter’s ribs, tucking his arms tight against Peter's chest. He squeezed his fists, sending shock waves through the webs and against Peter’s torso. Peter yelped, grabbing on tighter to the Shocker’s jacket – not wanting to let go in case he went after Johnny next.

Except Peter needed to quit thinking Johnny is helpless.

Johnny grabbed the Shocker’s shoulder, yanking him back. With his fist ignited, he punched the Shocker, knocking him back away from Peter. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Electro’s probably on his way up,” Peter said. “We have to hurry.”

“Good thing Vulture’s down,” Johnny said. “Come on. I’ll carry you if we need to keep up the façade of –“

“And the Hobgoblin?”

“The what?”

“Shit,” Peter said, shivers down his spine. The stairwell filled with electricity as Electro appeared.

“Fucking told you, Octavius,” Electro said, his voice distorted with power. “What did I say –“

“Handle it,” Octavius demanded, not looking up from the computer.

“Don’t mind us, Otto,” Peter called. “It’s just healthy competition between coworkers.”

“We still need to talk about that –“

“Not the time, Johnny,” Peter snapped.

“Lovers’ quarrel?” Electro teased, raising his arm, building power. “How cute.”

Electro let go – sending electricity toward Peter and Johnny. The two jumped in opposite directions, dodging the electricity that found its way to the backwall.

“Didn’t you learn from last time, Electro?” Peter said, webbing a chair and swinging it toward Electro. “I  _will_  win.”

“New game, Spider,” Electro said, destroying the chair with a single shot of electricity. “New game, new players –“ He turned to shoot electricity at Johnny. Peter shot a webline, yanking Electro's arm back.

His spider-sense buzzed at the back of his head. Peter barely had time to let go of his web before he felt something hit his back, exploding instantly. He felt the air escape his lungs. Shrapnel digging into his skin. Peter fell forward on his forearms, turning in time to give a strong kick to the Hobgoblin’s glider.

Fireballs flew above him, hitting the Hobgoblin.

Peter stood up, smirking at Johnny. He knew they could handle it.

Two more. That’s all they need to take down and they’re free. Octavius is too preoccupied with his plan to attack them.

Johnny took over the Hobgoblin, exploding his pumpkin bombs before they could even reach him. Peter moved his attention to Electro.

“Hey Sparky!” Peter shot a webline at Electro, grabbing the back of his vest and pulled him up, crashing him into the ceiling. “Remember last time?”

“Fat chance,” Electro snapped. He glanced up at the ceiling, sparks flying from broken light bulbs. He extended his arm, pulling electricity from above. The lights flickering as he absorbed the power.

“Electro!” Octavius scorned as the computers blinked. Electro let go of his pull. The lights stabled.

Peter punched Electro, reaching to grab the wires on the front of his vest – only to be met with a new metal plating.

“I told you,” Electro said, grabbing Peter’s arm. He tightened his grip, sending electricity through Peter’s body. “Fat. Chance.”

Peter screamed.

Octavius grinned.

“Peter!” Johnny called, turning his attention away from the Hobgoblin.

“W-w-watch it!” Peter called back, attempting to fight Electro’s grip.

Johnny turned around, barely having time to dodge a pumpkin bomb.

“Can’t you cool it for a minute?” He called out. He put his hands together, sending the Hobgoblin backwards with a fireblast. He turned back to Peter and Electro. “Peter!”

“D-do that a-a-gain,” Peter said. With Electro’s grip still tight on his arm, Peter curled his arm around Electro’s neck, pulling him toward Johnny.

“Pete –“

“F-flame o-on!”

Johnny sent another flameblast, narrowing his target to just Electro. Electro yelled. The fire burned hot. Hot enough to melt metal. He let go of Peter. Peter moved his arm before grabbing Electro again, holding him in place to let him take all of the heat.

As soon as Johnny let off, Peter turned Electro around. Fighting his way through the melted armor, Peter pulled at the wires activating his failsafe. Electro screamed again as his body filled with electricity. Peter let him drop to the ground.

“Let’s –“

Johnny yelped in pain.

Peter turned around.

Doc Ock had Johnny in his grip – his metal arm tight around his neck. Johnny grabbed at the arm, attempting to pull it away as he gasped for air.

“Johnny!”

“I told you, your little hero would sprint into action,” Octavius teased.

Johnny struggled in Octavius’s grip. The metal arm tightened. Johnny gasped, his flame instantly extinguished.

He had no oxygen.

He couldn’t breathe.

“This is not how I imagined it would go, but this works just as well,” Octavius said, admiring Johnny in his grip as the arm tightened. “A death on Oscorp’s hands would be so …  _unfortunate_  for his company.”

Peter felt his body wash over with anger.

Hot anger.

He leaped, shooting a web to throw himself toward Octavius, grabbing at his throat. His momentum slammed Octavius into the ground.

With no restrain, Peter brought his fists down into Octavius. His punches grew harder with each hit. He could sense the metal arms reaching to grab at him. He grabbed the first one, shoving it down into the ground anchoring it still.

He punched Octavius again, his hits grew sloppy against his target, but retained strength. He only stopped punching when he needed to grab the next metal arm that darted in his direction. With the arm in his hand, he squeezed hard. The metal bent in his grip. He yanked the arm, pulling it off of Octavius’s back. He tossed it aside as if it was weightless.

Octavius screamed in pain. He let go of Johnny.

Johnny gasped, reaching at his own neck, slowly taking in the relief.

Peter brought his fists across Octavius’s face.

He couldn’t stop.

No.

He didn’t want to stop.

He couldn’t let Octavius walk away after touching Johnny.

He couldn’t let Octavius  _walk_  after that.

He brought his fists down into his face.

Again.

And again.

And again. 

The room was quiet, but Peter could barely hear over the sounds of breaking bones.

Peter wasn’t  _close_  to being done with Octavius.

He brought his fist back up –

Stopped by the gentle touch to his tense shoulder.

Peter hesitated to look over his shoulder. He knew what he looked like. So why won't Johnny leave?

Blood dripped off his fist.

Otto Octavius laid on the floor, lifeless. His face beaten and swollen. He would be unrecognizable if it wasn’t for the metal arms that sprawled over the floor. His blood pooled around him on the tiles of Norman Osborn’s office.

The rest of the Sinisters – those who were conscious – left quietly. Fearing that they would be the next victim to Peter’s blind rage.

Peter was a murderer.

“Peter –“

“You should go.”

Johnny leaned more into his touch, running his hand along Peter’s tense shoulders. “I’m not leaving without you.”

Peter let go of Doc Ock, letting his limp body hit the ground with a thud.

He slowly stood up and turned to face Johnny.

He watched Johnny study him, taking in his face. Almost as if he was trying to figure out if he was the same person that he loved just weeks before.

To Johnny, Peter was still surprisingly beautiful. His brown eyes – dark and terrifying moments before – were apologetically soft and gentle. His hair was a mess, sweeping out in every direction. Some of his freckles were covered by specks of red.

His nice, soft green button-up shirt was ripped, exposing the black suit underneath. Johnny gave a soft exhale – almost a laugh of some sorts, as he ran his hand up Peter’s chest, stopping at the center of the big, white spider.

Peter ran his thumb over Johnny’s cheekbone, his knuckles painted red with blood. He gently lifted Johnny’s chin, leaning in to give him a gentle, bittersweet kiss.

“Maybe in another life, we were meant to be,” Peter said, running his thumb over Johnny’s cheek again. “But not here. Not now.”

Johnny leaned in, stealing one last kiss before Peter stepped back. He reached into his back pocket, pulling out his mask and slipped it on. He pulled his shirt off, tossing it to Johnny.

“Peter,” Johnny said softly.

“I’ll see you in another life, Beautiful.”

He took off, jumping out the window. Peter knew if he didn’t, he would try to find a reason to stay – a reason to be a danger in Johnny’s life.

Johnny held the shirt tightly, stepping toward the window.

He could jump after Peter.

Yell for him.

They could make this work. They both wanted to. So why couldn’t they?

But Johnny knew why they couldn’t.

So he let go.

He loosened his grip on the shirt, lighting his palms on fire.

He burnt Peter’s torn shirt, letting it turn into ashes, letting it stay in his hands for a moment too long before letting it go.


End file.
